


Synaesthesia

by Pezzythecat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternative Timeline, But first angst, Canonical Character Death, Fluff, Gerry lives AU, Jon Gerry Martin, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mentions of Cancer, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, There will be fluff, Worms, it doesn't stick, open wounds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28855638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pezzythecat/pseuds/Pezzythecat
Summary: Gerry would have been quite happy to remain dead.He's still not quite sure he came back 'right', but at least the constant pull of the eye was muted now behind the constant swirling colours that crept along before him.But all roads lead back to the Magnus Institute eventually, and the lavender tinged fog had begun to swallow up the other fears in it's grasp.The Usher foundation could only help him so much, so with the name Lukas on his lips he sends a email.To: Headarchivist@themagnusinstitute.ac.ukMeanwhile in the archives Jon really is struggling to get past the mortifying feeling of asking his subordinate if he was a ghost. It wasn't as if he didn't already make an arse of himself in front of Martin every time he opened his mouth.  Jon Just want's to keep him safe, and well if that mean giving him stupid tasks like follow up's with little old ladies and taking calls from the Usher foundation, it might not be thrilling work but it will keep him alive.Even if Martin hates it.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 54
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Synaesthesia is where a percept or concept (such as words, sounds or touch) automatically triggers an experience in another modality (such as colour, space or taste). The triggering experience is called the inducer, and the triggered experience is known as the concurrent. For someone who experiences colours when reading letters, the letters would be the inducer and the colours the concurrent. ( source https://uksynaesthesia.com/)
> 
> This is a fascinating phenomenon, and whenever I think of Gerry and his colours but if colours hated me line it always makes me think of it.
> 
> all mistakes are my own, I'm dyslexic so I write to try and keep on top of it. 
> 
> hence where the name of this fic came from.

Gerry checked the clock for the fourth time. 

Maybe he had the time difference worked out wrong? 

He had never been all that good at computers, his expertise had always lain in the more traditional approach to the occult and esoteric. 

Fire was a cure all, and most of the entities didn’t manifest themselves through the power of the internet and the ones that did, he tried to avoid. 

The web and the spiral had never been high on his list of a fun time.

Even in the _ before _ times, he would leave them to Gertrude to deal with, he preferred to deal with actual solid matter. 

Books could burn, and hunters bleed. 

They were physical, he could touch. 

He held no stock in the things that held no presence, that could not be destroyed with his own particular brand of fix it.

He hated that it had come to this; he hated not working alone. 

But he had exhausted the archives of the Usher foundation, so it left him little choice, he had to reach out.

This was not the type of task he could take on by himself.

  
  


*****

Martin was not having a good day.

Jon had been nagging at him about a missing file all morning and Martin had a sneaking suspicion it might be the one that had been in the box Jane Prentis had dissolved in the attack. 

He didn’t want to point this out to Jon.

He was trying his hardest not to bring any mention of worms into the day-to-day workplace conversation. 

Solely because every time someone brought them up, all of the archive staff would begin picking at the small circular scabs that littered their bodies. 

He hated to think what would have happened if Sasha and Tim hadn’t found the tunnel; he wished they had been away for lunch longer; he wished that…

He wished for a lot of things that he couldn’t change, so why linger?

Yet he worried every time Jon absentmindedly knocked the top from his scabs.

Every time Sasha would subconsciously pick at the one on the back of her hand when deep in thought or Tim would poke at the ones on his ankle with full intent to watch it bleed.

Every time Martin caught sight of his own healing skin in the mirror, he could hear the haunting sound of screams as he pulled Jon through the trapdoor and into the waiting wall of worms.

“Martin!” 

Jon calling him to his office made him jump a mile, shaking him out of his waking nightmare.

He had been reliving his worm trauma and regretting the fact that he had noodles for lunch.

Jon looked aggravated when he entered the office, but to be fair when didn’t he? The man was ninety-eight percent stressed and two percent tea. 

“Jon?” 

Jon looked up at him over the top of his laptop. His eyes were sunken in the sockets and he looked like he needed a good sleep, but what else was new? Had he been home last night? Or had he slept at his desk, and just thrown a jumper over the same shirt he had on yesterday to make it look like he had. 

Martin was beginning to think Jon might have given up his flat entirely at this point, if it weren't for the fact he had dragged him to the tube at least twice in as many weeks he would have been convinced of it. 

He had to be going somewhere. Occasionally he even looked like had had a shave, not that he blamed Jon for wanting to grow in his beard, it hid the scars that were beginning to form over the more noticeable extra holes Jane had left in his face. 

Martin was getting used to the patchy stubble, the way the silver that came through in Jon’s sideburns was speckled through the tufty hair, the group of them that clumped together near his bottom lip just next to a particularly over worried ...

“Could you take a video call from the Usher Foundation? I would ask Tim -”

Martin had been staring again, he knew it wasn’t subtle, but he had worked out quite early on in his crush, Jon was not observant when it came to the longing glances Martin sent his way.

“But him and Sasha had already left for the day… I know.“ Martin was getting a little sick of being Jon’s last resort, if he was being honest. Though cutting Jon off mid sentence was a new one he was getting braver the more annoyed he got at the other man.

Jon seemed reluctant to let him do anything that involved him leaving the institute to investigate, and he seemed to be in and out of Jon’s office at least ten times a day. 

He didn’t mind, not really. 

He was always happy to spend time with Jon after all, he wasn’t going to deny that or make excuses for it. 

But it was getting a little annoying when he really wanted to follow up on a statement, and Jon refused to let him go farther than the Tesco at the end of the street without checking in.

“And you aren't taking it because?” Martin pushed, this being more forceful around Jon was new and still a little strange. Though he did like how sometimes he still caught Jon off guard. The man blinked a few times before answering .

“I have someone coming in to give a statement at half four, or I would do it myself.” Jon shuffled in his seat. 

He looked guilty, but what of? Martin was unsure.

"And I asked you too. I know it doesn't mean much around here but I am your supervisor." 

Martin knew he shouldn't enjoy getting a rise from Jon quite as much as he did, but it at least showed Jon hadn't been replaced by a transcendental, at least since last night. 

“Ok I’ll take it, but you know I hate talking to Americans.” Martin held out his hand to take the post-it note with the email address on it that Jon was hastily writing out; he tried his hardest not to react to the lingering of Jon’s fingers on his palm when he slapped the note down. Martin was sure Jon had just ran his fingers across his palm on purpose.

But that would just be ridiculous, it was just his mind playing tricks on him. Wasn’t it?

“You just dislike them because of the ice tea.” Jon seemed to deliberately turn his attention back to his laptop. 

“I have standards Jon, tea should be lukewarm at worst, Iced tea is an abomination” Martin grumbled as he walked away 

He could have sworn that when he glanced back at Jon he was trying to hide a smirk. 

  
  


*****

Jon hadn’t wanted to hand more work over to Martin.

He really had meant to take the call himself. But as he had looked through the now permanently propped open office door into the archives, he had seen Martin picking absent minded at the scab on his wrist and he had just wanted to give him something else to fixate on.

Jon knew Martin blamed himself for the worm attack, and he wished he wouldn't. 

It was no more Martin's fault than the fact it had rained last Tuesday, the 8.25 in to Kings cross was always late and the earth rotated around the sun.

He was worried about Martin.

He could lie to himself about it, tell himself that it was just concern for one of his subordinates, but why bother? 

He was worried about Martin and to be honest with himself it probably ran a lot deeper than that. 

To be fair, the other man was never far from his thoughts these days. 

Maybe it was pulling worms out of each other in document storage that seemed to constantly be playing on repeat in his mind , or how Martin was just there whenever Jon needed him.

Either way, he knew he had to keep Martin safe, even from himself. 

The problem with that was, he knew he was keeping Martin in the institute more, filling his day with busy work that had no substance in a pathetic attempt to keep him safe. 

And even worse, he was sure Tim had picked up on it, he kept making jokes about his favourite boy not getting sent on bullshit errands to the arse end of London.

But he wasn’t doing it on purpose. He was just returning the favour. 

Martin spent so much of his time making sure Jon was alright, if felt justified.

He was just being a good friend, a good boss. 

Jon would do the same for Tim and Sasha.

Or would he?

He did keep sending them to investigate the more grizzly statements. 

But they had each other. They always worked together well. They worked full stop.

Two halves of a whole that probably didn’t realise the way they complimented the other. Whenever Sasha would detach from the world, Tim would bring her back, when Tim would become too full of energy, anger and revenge, Sasha would soothe him and bring him back down to earth. 

Sometimes he wished he had someone who could be that for him, stop his mind spinning and the world from piling in on all sides and suffocating him. 

But the world didn’t work like that. 

There was nothing in this world that could Save Jonathan Sims from himself.

When he looked up there was a steaming cup of tea at the edge of his desk. In his favourite mug and with a custard cream perched on the side of the coaster.

He hadn’t even heard Martin come back in. 

  
  


*****

Martin typed the email into the work intranet. It didn’t ping up any interdepartmental memos, no previous emails, and most importantly nothing on the watch list. 

So whoever this American was that wanted into the archives database so badly, was either too nebby for their own good or they had no idea just how bad it got at the Magnus Institute. 

Oh well, if they wanted to go dragging themselves into this proverbial shit show, it was on their head.

Martin sipped on his tea. 

He had made sure it was still steaming as he dialled in to the call, after all he had principals, and one of them was that tea should always be served hot. 

He had a point to prove. 

Martin had taken the laptop to the very back corner of the archives. 

If Jon was expecting a statement giver, it wouldn’t do for them to overhear official business. 

Document storage had been out of the question, too much worm related trauma for him to settle. Every time he went in there he could still feel the piercing gaze of Jon on him, the smaller man’s grip on his wrist, the warmth of his fingers on his own clammy panic dampened flesh…

But there was a reading nook tucked back behind one of the yet uncharted piles of document boxes under the stairs, that served as both a bolt hole and a place to take work related calls, that would have to do.

Martin hit the call button, trying not to think about how much Jon suited the smirk that had plastered his face even as he had stared into the nothingness beyond his screen. He hadn’t even realised Martin had been in with his tea. Wherever Jon had wandered in his mind it must have grabbed him completely.

The call connected, eventually.

Martin always hated making calls across the Atlantic, he could never work out the time difference. 

Were they ahead or behind? Martin had never travelled across time zones and it confused him to think about it. 

He remembered Sasha calling them from Florida when she went on holiday, but him and Tim had been in the pub and she had just sat down to brunch. 

He always itched to ask what time it was wherever the person he was talking to was calling from, but that wasn’t exactly professional and he couldn't stand the idea of Jon getting a complaint about him being an idiot that couldn’t even work out time zones.

It was daytime when the image came on the screen, so that probably meant that they were behind, although that wasn’t the first thing that Martin noticed. 

The man that came into focus on the tablet didn’t strike Martin as that much of an academic. 

He was thin, dark black hair pulled back into a ponytail at the back of his head. Black eyeliner could just be made out ringing the man’s bright blue eyes. He wore a black turtleneck that complemented his pale complexion, and his face had so many piercings that Martin was tempted to start counting. 

He was professional in the same manner that Tim was, although where Tim’s approach to fashion was to wear every colour under the sun, the man on the screen before him seemed to have a regimented look of black and red. 

And he was stunning. 

And he was staring at Martin with just as much curiosity as Martin knew was radiating from himself.

“Mr Delano?” Martin managed eventually. 

“So… you’re the new archivist then?” The man’s voice was not what Martin had expected. To be fair it was nothing like what Martin had expected.

It wasn’t American for a start. 

“What?... No … That would be Jon… I’m his...well I’m Martin, Martin Blackwood.” Martin needed to stop staring.

“Nice to see nothing ever changes, why can’t that place get an archivist that doesn’t palm the work off on the underlings.” The man reached off screen and pulled back a mug into view. Steam floated in front of the man’s features as he took a sip,

“I take it you're Jon’s assistant?”

“One of them, yeah.”

“He’s still got more than one? I’m impressed.” Mr Delano saluted him with his mug. “Good going for staying alive.”

Martin wasn’t sure if he should take that as a complement, a joke or ask further questions? And boy did he have questions, more of them by the moment. 

“If you don’t mind me asking Mr Delano, what exactly is it you would like to know that you couldn’t find the answer in the Usher archives?” 

“Please, Call me Gerry. Mr Delano makes me sound like some sort of investment banker. Do I look like an investment banker?” He clicked his tongue on the last word metal bar clacking against his teeth, and it was just as well Martin had a PhD in keeping his face neutral from working around Jon, or he might have had a moment.

“To be fair you don’t look like an archivist either.” It wasn’t a lie, Martin was sure if he looked back through his poetry notebooks he would find cut outs from kerrang magazine that looked more like Gerry than any academic text. 

“Yeah well technically I'm in research , I would say don’t judge a book by it’s cover but I don't trust books.” The man was sweetly spoken and the words don't sound like they should be coming from his mouth, but Martin found something mildly charming in the way Gerry spoke, the way he held your eye as he spoke the words. 

“Hum, that's a fair point well made.” Martin took a sip of his tea trying to get his thoughts back on track, they had wandered with his observations.

“So what can I do to help you that you couldn’t find in your own place?”

  
  


“Let’s just say the American record system only goes back so far, I know you have records going right back to the dawn of time, Jonah Magnus was a hoarder, amongst other things.” Gerry pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen free from it’s ponytail and Martin caught sight of his tattooed hands, but it had been too quick to make out what adorned the man's skin. 

“You seem to know a lot about the archives?”

“Call it a personal project. I have a somewhat vested interest, If you hadn’t guessed New York isn’t my home town.” Gerry chuckled. 

“I had guessed, but I still don’t get what you need us for?” Martin pressed on. As Gerry leant closer to the camera.

“What do you know about the Lukas family?”

  
  


*****

  
  


Gerry pulled down the lid of his laptop. 

_ Well shit _ .

That had been an experience. 

He hadn’t been sure what would happen when he reattached his broken ties to the institute and the eye, but he hadn’t expected his skin to itch and the space between his tattoos to almost burn. 

It was like the desolation had taken a pot shot and struck true.

Ever since his run in with the end, the eye seemed to be weary of him, even the odd occasion that he ventured into head office the eye was just a background noise. 

A fuzzy seafoam green that never fully formed in his vision. 

Yes, the Usher Foundation had been an offshoot of the eye’s domain, but the hunt was just as prevalent in the framework of management, and the Dark had a hold in its own insidious way. 

He disliked the funding from the Outer Bay shipping company but at least they only had Conrad Lukas associating with them. 

Somehow ironically the Lukas clan seemed easier to deal with when they were alone. 

Just what was going on back at the institute? He very much doubted that Elias would have failed to notice his name pop up in the framework if Martin had searched for him, and he had a feeling he probably did, the man seemed surprisingly good at his job, at least the Eye seemed fond of him so he must be doing something right.

The more he thought about it the more he was convinced that Martin would have searched his name. Although he was supposed to be dead, so maybe the name of his father had slipped past Elias and under his ever watchful eye. 

He doubted it.

He pulled his gloves on, covering the Eyes that blinked every time he moved his fingers. Best to keep them in the dark, he had a feeling that now he had contacted the Institute The eye would be looking for an opportunity to try and sneak a peek.

The eye always struggled to see within itself, but he didn’t want to tempt fate. 

He had asked Martin to look into the Lukas family. He knew that was an open invitation to irritate the man who sat atop his mausoleum of knowledge and turn his gaze back this direction.

He had always enjoyed aggravating that little weasel and now he was doing it by proxy . 

Gertrude would be proud.

He just hoped that Elias didn’t take it out on Martin. 

He had been able to sense the Lonely that wrapped around Martin like a blanket, he didn’t need the little present the end had left him to see it clawing at the man's skin tugging at his tawny hair. The lonely was bred in the man. 

He could feel the eye on him though. It ran through him in much the same way it did Gerry, that green and paled lavender hue was a constant reminder of where his loyalties used to be tied, and the new Lonely claws that grew sharper with each day.

Maybe it was just the archives themselves staking its claim on Martin, or maybe it was more? 

Gerry had never signed that contract, Gertrude wouldn’t let him. 

But his misguided loyalty to the former archivist had been the thing that had been his final act of alignment to the eye. 

Bloody Gertrude. Just as messed up in the long run as his dear old mum. 

But still, he had followed her, admired her even in his own special brand of devotion. 

She hadn’t sacrificed him like her assistants, not until after he was already dead anyway.

He moved around the apartment, scanning for eyes. Better safe than sorry.

Did Martin know what was going on in the institute? 

Did this  _ Jon _ have any idea just how bad it could actually get?

Did they even know anything about the entities? 

Was he really throwing himself right back into the centre of this madness after finally getting an out?

It looked like it.

*****

  
  


Martin stuck his head around the door, his hair hidden under his beanie and his thick tartan jacket wrapped tightly around him in a way that Jon tried to tell himself was not endearing .

He was failing. 

“I’m heading for the night, do you need anything before I go?” was what the man said, but to Jon’s ears it sounded more like  _ ‘go home, do not make me drag you’ _

“No, I was just finishing up on the statement from our earlier visitor.” Jon was only partly lying he hadn’t almost finished, to be fair he had barely started. 

He really didn’t like the spider ones.

“What did the Usher foundation want?”

Martin stepped into the room proper now, it was as if he had been waiting to make sure that Jon wasn’t going to rush him away before he crossed the threshold.

He hated that he still did that, it had been a long time since he had dismissed Martin out of frustration. 

He was trying really hard not to slip back into bad habits.

“You aren't going to like it.” Martin said shoving his hands in his pockets and shrugging.

He felt the look of scepticism on his face, but he waited for Martin to continue.

“They were asking about the Lukas’s.”

“Your right I hate it. You know Elias gets all edgy when you poke too much at the Lukas family.” Jon sighed. He had a list of questions about the Lukas’s a mile long himself, ones that Elias would shut down with a look whenever he brought them up. 

“That’s what I said to Gerry-” Martin started.

“Gerry?”

“The guy from the Foundation,” Martin explained “I said getting info on the Lukas’s was as likely as finding the Mothman.” Martin had started fidgeting with the strap of his bag, he was avoiding looking directly at him. 

What else had this ‘Gerry’ said to make Martin act like this?

“On first name terms already?” Jon was shocked by the sound of his own voice, was that a twinge of jealousy? Martin had refused to call him anything but Mr Sims, for the first week they had worked together, yet this American had spoken to him once-

“He insisted, and you know me.” Martin looked up and caught him staring.

His returning look was loaded with questions. 

Questions that Jon knew he would probably never have the guts to ask for the answers to. Did he know Martin? Sometimes it felt like he did and others times he was no further forward than he had been that first day.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have expected a level of professionalism.” Jon hated it even as he spoke the words, that biting criticism that had made Martin think he hated him tinged every part of the sentence.

But Martin didn’t retreat like he used to; he stood before Jon now an amused look on his face.

“Oh, so sorry Mr Sims, I forgot we worked in a well organised highly professional office, and we were pretending we didn’t have a minor world altering event at least once a month.” Martin was hanging around too much with Tim and his sass was rubbing off on him.

“Yes, well… we could at least pretend.” Jon muttered, he was glad blushes didn’t show as obviously on his skin as it did on Martin’s or he would have to explain why Martin teasing him like this had made him flush so badly. 

“Well next time I have to introduce you to the monster of the week, would you like me to introduce you as Jonathan Sims, Jon Sims or Mr Sims?” Martin was a good mimic and his impression of Rosie was almost spot on.

Jon almost burst out laughing at the small huff and the dramatic crossed arm that accompanied Martin’s little outburst. 

It was both amusing and adorable in equal measures. 

“Well?” Martin pushed. 

Jon moved the papers on his desk into a pile and then slid them into his top draw

Martin had managed to completely derail his train of thought. There was no way he was going to be able to think about spiders of all things when Martin was being so-

“You actually going to call it a night?” Martin seemed to relax, uncrossing his arms, there was something in the way he smiled from behind his glasses that made Jon need to hide his face, lest he give away his feelings.

“It won’t kill me to be back in my flat before midnight for once.” Jon conceded, moving to grab his coat from the corner of the office. 

“So this Gerry?” he asked as he grabbed his laptop and slid it in his bag before indicating that Martin should lead the way up the stairs from the basement.

“Yeah, seems he’s hit a bit of a dead end on his research on the Lukas family,” Martin dropped his voice as they walked across the empty entrance hall, almost as if he thought the giant picture of Jonah Magnus was listening to his words. “He thinks that the Lukas family are up to something, something big.”

They paused as they got to the front entry and Martin held the door open. Jon ducked under his arm trying not to think about any implications that the percentage holding donor to the institute being involved in something ‘Big’ could lead to. 

“And this Gerry thinks we can help how?” Jon questioned as they headed towards the tube station. 

“He’s going to email me some case numbers to see if I can find them in the archives and scan them over to him, seems to think he needs to go back to the early 1800’s, the Foundation’s records don’t go that far back.” Martin wasn’t watching where he was walking, too fixated on Jon and their conversation, Jon had to reach out his arm to stop him walking in to a bunch of businessmen who expected the world to revolve around them. 

“And he thinks ours do?” he questioned looking up into Martin’s earnest eyes.

“He  _ knows _ ours do.” He sounded so matter of fact. This was something new, it was still taking some getting used to. 

“Why would an American know that?” He asked ducking into Martin’s side as a bus load of people emptied onto the street. He was struck by the scent, Martin smelt of vanilla and old books, something Jon hadn’t realized until then he associated with comfort.

“Gerry isn’t American , I think he said he was from south London-” 

Jon suddenly realised he hadn't let go of Martin's arm, he dropped it, spluttering as he cut Martin off, stepping away from where they had been pressed together. 

“Had a good old chat did you? Did you find out the name of his first pet? What his mothers maiden name was?” he spat.

“No,” Martin’s face moved in to something that looked like disappointment the half worried smile slipping from his features “but it’s a bit of a conversation starter, when the American you’re talking to sounds like he could have a stall down Camden, rather than a Starbucks addiction and terrible opinions on football.” 

Martin paused as they reached the crossing. He seems to be avoiding Jon’s eye now, as if in some personal resolve.

Jon knew he was being ridiculous, Martin was just doing his job, but how did he have this skill for finding out random things about people? 

He knew Tim flirted, Sasha talked people in circles until they gave her what she wanted to know, but Martin, what was it that made people tell him things? 

Then again, how many times had the words he wanted to keep to himself almost slipped from his mouth without his say so when Martin was around? 

And why was he getting his back up over this total stranger from across the pond?

“Your little tantrum done?” Martin asked as they crossed the road and got to the entrance of the tube.

“It was not a  _ tantrum _ ’” Jon grumbled as he topped up his oyster card.

“Really? Cause it seemed like one.” Martin watched by the ticket gate, waiting until Jon joined him before he spoke again. 

“I’m calling Gerry again tomorrow, if you want to vet the interloper?”

Jon knew he should say no, there was absolutely no reason he needed to get involved. 

It was just stupid jealousy, and he had no right to be envious over who his archive assistants spoke to, he would be getting jealous over Martin talking to Pat in accounting next.

“Don’t be ridiculous, just make sure you show me anything you plan on emailing him, let me sign off on the files. We don’t want the Usher Foundation taking credit for our academic work.” 

Martin tapped his oyster on the gate and headed through the style. Waiting on the other side till Jon did the same on the style that led him to his line. 

Martin lived to the east of the city and Jon the west. 

This was where the parted ways.

“Jon the likelihood I will be able to find anything in that mess of an archive is slim to none, not unless we work out Gertrude's secret filing system in the next twenty four hours. Chill.” Martin smiled, and even over the expanse of the tube station it still had the same devastating effect on Jon that it had at point blank range.

“Go home, eat, sleep, do not work on statements…” Martin shouted as he headed to the top of the escalator. 

“Just do any two of these things and I will be happy… see you in the morning.” 

As Jon watched Martin disappear from view he screwed up his eyes trying to convince himself that he was going to do that under his own steam and not just because Martin asked him to.

On the way home he lectured himself on self care, before yelling internally at himself, he really needed to get on top of the jealous tendencies that he hadn’t even realised he had.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Jon didn't mean to hover, yet hover he did. 

He was sure that Tim was just clocking it up to yet another bout of paranoia, and maybe it was, but this one had a new twist.

The day had started relatively normal. 

He had gotten in just a little after seven and found Martin already bustling around in the stacks nose deep in files and headphones in as he hummed along to whatever was playing on the huge speakers that sat either side of his head tangled in his auburn curls. 

He stole a few moments of unobserved observation before returning to his office.

Nothing strange there, other than the fact that Martin normally arrived a little after half eight, so he was unusually early. 

Still, it was nothing to trigger this level of paranoia.

But when he still hadn’t gotten his customary cup of tea by five past nine, he got a little concerned. 

Was Martin ok?

He ventured into the stacks in pursuit of the man who had given him cause to worry. 

He found him staring at his phone, tongue protruding through his set lips as he scrutinised over something on the tiny screen, headphones still blocking off all the noise from the archives.

The thing about Martin, as Jon had found over the course of time, was that you never knew what version of him he was going to present to the world. 

Jon knew he was no better, a million different versions of his own persona weaved and twisted into the cold hard face that he used to wear on the daily.

But Martin had stopped holding up the timid version of himself as a defence mechanism round about the time worms had held him hostage for two weeks. 

Martin pushed his glasses back up with the back of his hand, Jon liked to see him like this deep in thought and unguarded. 

Jon had long ago decided that this was the real Martin. 

He just wished the man would relax enough around him to actually be this version of himself.

As he watched Martin seemed to come to a conclusion in regards to whatever enthralled him on the screen in his hand. 

He straightened out. Jon always forgot how much taller than him Martin was, he spent so much time making himself take up so much less room. 

It was a shame, the height wasn’t as intimidating as Martin thought it was, Georgie had been the same, hiding behind her words hoping that they would change the way people saw her, she had always said that she was to big to be taken seriously, whatever the hell that meant, Jon had never seen the problem.

  
  


When Martin finally realised he wasn’t alone he did a double take.

“Shit! What time is it?” he said looking back down at his phone. “Oh sorry Jon, I lost track of the time-”

“It’s fine… what are you up to anyway?” if Jon moved towards Martin as he spoke it wasn’t a conscious decision, it just happened of its own accord. 

Martin shuffled, sliding his phone back into his jeans and sliding his headphones down so they hung around his neck, he looked a little concerned that the answer was going to be one that Jon wouldn’t like, the bumbling archive assistant was threatening to raise his head in defence…

“Let’s guess something to do with our ‘not American’ friend?” Jon tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice, but he didn’t like the idea of this Gerry, distracting  _ His  _ Martin to the point where for the first time in his tenure Martin had forgotten his morning cuppa.

Martin rubbed idly at the back of his neck. Averting is eyes. 

“He emailed me a list of case numbers-”

“How did he get case numbers?” That had been bugging Jon since last night, how did this person know just so much about the archives when Jon and his team couldn’t even work out what the filing system was supposed to be.

“I dunno, maybe he has access to our catalogue numbers? It’s not like I’ve had a chance to ask is it? It’s what? Three in the morning there?” Martin grumbled. 

Jon didn’t like this, not one bit. It felt like Gerry was violating Jon’s personal space with these requests. 

“Well as I said yesterday, no sending him files until I’ve approved them.” Jon was aware he had said that in his asshole voice, he bit his lip to reprimand himself and was more than aware that Martin was watching him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Martin gave him such a timid smile, Jon had to avert his eyes again. 

Martin was going to start thinking he had some sort of issue with him.

Well, he did, but probably not the issue that Martin would imagine.

Jonathan Sims did not get crushes, that was for teenage boys and love sick fools and he was neither.

So why did his heart speed up just a little when Martin smiled at him like that, why did the strange feeling that clawed at him feel an awful lot like jealousy?

“Cuppa?” Martin asked, nodding back towards the main office. 

Jon followed him silently, trying to organise his own thought, because right now they made less sense than Gertrude's filing system.

*****

The good thing about New York was its abundance of twenty four hour coffee houses and diners. 

Gerry couldn’t recall the last time he had actually sat down and ate a meal he cooked himself, unless you called sixty second noodles and microwave breakfast burritos cooking, and he very much didn’t.

It wasn’t that Gerry was an insomniac, that would indicate that he at some point got something that vaguely resembles sleep. 

No Gerry existed on cat naps and caffeine and he was quite happy to keep it this way. 

The nightmares couldn’t get to him when he was awake.

He flagged down the waitress to get a refill and picked at his breakfast platter. 

God he missed a good old London fry up. Everything in the states was far too sweet. 

How pathetic was his life that he longed to have baked beans swimming in H.p sauce, an egg so runny it looked like an abstract painting with a side of bacon so burnt you could use it to stab someone.

And tea! Tea so over brewed it was probably made from last week's bags. 

He thanked the waitress when she topped up his coffee, at least this stuff was palatable. The stuff in Pennsylvania tasted like dishwater.

He looked over the files on his laptop, nobody bothers the weird goth in the corner, he had learned that early on in his adventures. 

In New York he was just another face in the crowd. He liked it this way, even if it was rather Lonely.

He disliked the Forsaken the most of all the entities, he hated the way it creeped and slunk and you didn't realise until it was too late.

He should get a cat… or maybe a dog. Would that work against the one alone?

Probably not.

He pulled up google, all set to search for something but just as quickly his mind wandered.

Carefully, as he felt like he was doing something inherently wrong, he typed the name Martin .K. Blackwood into the search bar and pressed enter.

  
  


***** 

Martin had asked Sasha to see if she could poke about in the institute donations records, her interest piqued, she had taken to it with gusto. She now sat on her half of the big communal desk, feet tucked under her, typing with one hand and nibbling on biscuits with the other.

“Most of this is in the public domain? Did this Gerry say anything about what we're looking for?” she asked eyes following Tim as he walked into Jon’s office, closing the door behind him. 

“Nope, just whatever I could find. I pulled out a few statements, the Lukas name turned up a few times in a few of the statement’s Jon recorded this year. I found an Evan and a Nathanial?” Martin slid the files in question over to Sasha. 

“And I suppose you just  _ had _ to listen to the recordings again? For science ?” Sasha prodded. 

“Maybe.” Martin muttered, turning his attention to the blinking email notification on his screen. 

“How are things between the two of you?” Sasha never one to give up on an idea when it grabbed her ignored the fact that Martin really didn’t want to talk about it. 

Sasha wasn’t a gossip, in as much as if you told her a secret it stayed with her, but she did like to keep in the habit of hoarding secrets like Smaug. Each secret a shiny new coin for her lair.

Sasha was the only one he had ever spoken to about the way he felt about Jon. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t suspect Tim had an idea that Martin had a crush, but as far as Tim was aware Martin was just like that around Jon because the Archivist made him nervous.

In a way he did, but not because of any power imbalance, more to do with the fact that Martin Blackwood was stupidly head over heels with the man that could only just about stand to be around him.

It was less than ideal. 

“He’s been acting weird ever since yesterday.” Martin started aware that Sasha had her full attention on him from behind her screen. 

“He started acting weird when I brought up Gerry.”

“Did you pull  _ that _ face when you mentioned Gerry?” Sasha asked him, looking amused.

“What face?” Martin questioned. 

“The face you normally reserved for Jon when you think he’s not looking? Sasha smirked. “I take it that this Gerry is a bit of a looker?” 

Martin could feel the heat building in his cheeks. “He’s not bad, If you're into brooding goths and blokes in eyeliner?”

“So yes then. I believe you're playing your cards a little to close your chest.” Sasha always saw right through him, she was too switched on for her own good. “But not close enough, you gotta stop falling for unobtainable assholes. Your face always gives it away.”

“Even so, why would it bother Jon? He was the one who gave me the call to sort out?” he clicked through to his email. A confirmation of his call with Gerry later that day shouldn’t have made his heart flutter, he had only spoken to the man once.

“Your poker face was never that good when it came to things like this Martin. Just tell me everything you have about this pretty goth and maybe you can stop doing that face and upsetting the boss with it.”

  
  


*****

“Hi Martin.” 

“Gerry.” Martin’s face smiled back at him as he pinged to life on the chat screen. Gerry found himself smiling back, his little deep dive hadn’t dragged anything untoward up about the man. Something that Gerry had to admit he found a bit of a relief. 

He had found Martin on Facebook, a very basic profile, a few inspirational quotes and the bare minimum of personal interests, no family members listed and only seventeen friends and six of them were animal ambassador pages.

He had more luck on Instagram. While not as densely populated as ‘Tim’ the man tagged in a vast number of Martin’s neat 9 by 9 squares, it was still an insight into the life of the man who would fall into the category of hipster if he wasn’t so damn adorable with it. 

Gerry wasn’t one to have a type. 

To be fair, he hadn’t really had the time or the life expectancy in the past to do more than have one night stands, it wasn't as if he could bring people back home, what with the angel of death and her book collection. 

  
  


But he had eyes. 

He wasn’t dead, well, not anymore anyway.

He hadn’t needed to video call Martin, but he had  _ wanted _ to. 

For all his trying to get as far away from the grip of the eye, something seemed to want to keep pulling him back in. 

Martin at least looked happy to see him. 

He had half expected to be fobbed off to some other employee. But if Martin was back that may well mean that he was still flying under the radar of the watcher. 

“You find anything?” Gerry said, returning the shy smile that emanated from the screen. 

“I've got my college Sasha looking into the institute’s funding, and I’ve found a few statements that we’ve recently committed to tape that mention the Lukas family. I’m just waiting on the Head Archivist giving me the go ahead to scan them and email them to you.”

“Jon right?” Gerry asked, he had wandered down that rabbit hole too. Other than a Twitter account that had been closed down two years prior John Sims seemed to have exercised his right to be forgotten. 

A ‘Jon’ was mentioned in the image tags on one or two of Martin’s Instagram posts, but other than that he was a ghost, as invisible to the online world as Gerry was.

“Jon yeah, he’s a bit concerned that the head of the institute might have an issue with us sharing intel with someone from another organisation.” Martin shrugged, and Gerry wished the image on the screen was clearer. He would quite like to see if Martin’s eyes sparkled like they did in the photos.

“Hold on, back up a bit… committed to tape?” Gerry had seen Gertrude use a tape recorder on a few occasions, but he hadn’t really pushed it when he had enquired at the nature of their use. 

He had put it down to Gertrude not being with the times. 

But if this new Archivist was using tapes, maybe that wasn’t the case.

“Yeah, we use tapes sometimes, some of the statements don’t record to digital for some reason, I hate doing it, it gives me the creeps.” Martin visibly shuddered at the thought.

“And you record them too?” Gerry tried to keep his voice steady, no need to panic. 

Not yet anyway, but at least this explained the hold of the watcher that he could sense even over the internet when he spoke to the man. 

“A few, it’s slow going, but Elias wants them recorded, and it’s what I'm paid to do, I don’t Have to like it.” Martin had started picking at something on his wrist. “It’s not the weirdest thing to ever happen in the archives, I dunno about over there but some strange stuff goes on here, you just get used to it I suppose.”

Fucking Elias, if he had suggested it it probably wasn’t good. Martin looked nervous , the greens and blues floated at the edge of the screen as if trying to push their way into the camera, wanting to know who or what was on the other side of the screen.

Elias was as insidious as ever and Gerry hated that Martin seemed to be stuck in the middle of it.

Gertrude had always said he was too soft for his own good sometimes, but he had to keep telling himself that there was good in the world and he had to just keep finding it.

He had a feeling Martin was one of the good things he should hold on to.

*****

“What is wrong with you now?” Tim nudged him in the side bringing him back to earth for the fourth time this hour. “Are you here with me boss?”

Was he?

No. If he was honest, he wasn’t. 

Martin had dropped in the files he wanted to send about an hour ago, and as far as Jon was concerned they might as well be shouting ‘ _ look at me’  _ from the corner of his desk. 

The files kept drawing his eye, a constant presence that was just as distracting as Martin himself when it came to work. 

He gave out a frustrated huff and banged his curled fist repetitively on the desk.

What the hell had gotten into him?

“Want to talk about it ?” Tim asked carefully. 

Did he want to talk about it? Tim had worked out the way Jon felt about Martin long before Jon even had any idea. 

Maybe Tim could help Jon understand why Martin in just talking to this new work colleague, was making Jon’s guts do summersaults. 

He knew he would feel like a right prat telling Tim that he was jealous of the way Martin had smiled when he spoke Gerry’s name.

And he was right.

But to Tim’s credit, he listened and didn’t straight out call him an idiot.

“Jon, You can tell me how much you like Martin till your blue in the face, but you refuse to act on it, so how’s he ever going to know if you don’t tell him?” 

Why did Tim have to be the voice of reason? There was nothing in his argument that Jon could pull apart and analize, he was right, how was Martin supposed to know how he felt if Jon didn’t act on it ?

“So what do I do?” 

“Start with taking the files to him and seeing this ‘competition ‘ yourself.” Tim even did the air quotes and it was a testament to how agitated Jon was that he didn’t comment on it.

*****

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Martin began gently, he had made a habit of coaxing information out of Jon by being overly polite, he wondered if it would work on Gerry. “What made you move to America?”

On the screen Gerry tipped his head to the side, shuffling the dark red scarf around his neck. 

It looked like he was in a café, his headphones were in and he had his hair tucked under a beanie, a few stray bits had worked their way loose. 

He could make out the big black coat thrown over the back of the booth. 

From there conversations so far Martin had attained two things. 

Firstly Gerry was fully on the books at the Usher Foundation and secondly, that didn’t mean he was in Washington. He was currently in New York, having trailed a dead end to the docks. 

“Misplaced loyalty and nothing to lose?” Gerry sighed. “There's more but, maybe another day. And maybe not when you’re at work?”

“Is that a sly way of asking for my number?” Martin had no idea where that had come from, he had never been so forward in his life.

But there was something about Gerry. It was as if no matter what he did he wanted to know more. 

Nothing would come of it, he knew that. The man was way out of his league and he lived in New York. The only sort of York Martin had ever been to was old York on a school trip when he was about twelve, he had enjoyed seeing the trains. 

“Maybe?” Gerry looked away from the camera, acknowledging someone off screen, a hand came in to view topping up his drink. Maybe it was just the connection, but Martin was sure he could see a bit of colour tinting the other man's cheeks. 

Martin flustered , he really hadn’t expected that answer. 

He was just about to say something to cover the awkwardness when the sounds of someone coming into the filing stacks made him think twice.

“Listen, I better go, I’ll email you the files as soon as I get the go ahead.” he knew he was blushing himself now, he had never been that forward in his life,what had possessed him to start now?

“Oh … ok.” Gerry stammered. “I look forward to it, bye for now.” 

Martin gave him a nervous smile before closing the lid to his laptop, just as Jon came around the corner.

“Oh Martin ,there you are.” Jon also flushed, although Martin failed to see what he had to be red in the face like that for.

Jon looked Martin up and down as if assessing the situation. Martin was more than aware he was blushing so much you could probably fry and egg on his head. 

Jon seemed to be observing him, it was still a strange thing being observed by Jon.

It was like he tried to make sense of every little nuance of your being. 

Martin wondered if he did it with everyone, or just him.

Jon twitched a hand towards his hair, brushing it out of his face. 

He looked worried? Concerned? Nervous? Martin couldn't quite figure it out. 

“Are you done?” He asked nodding at the laptop.

“Yeah, not much to report really, were you looking for me for something?” he enquired getting to his feet and picking up his laptop.

Jon seemed at a loss, closing his hand repetitively over the folders in his possession where they pressed to his chest.

“Jon?”

“Oh sorry, yes, I … the files, they're fine for you to scan and send. I was hoping to be able to let Mr Delano know myself.” He seemed to deflate as he handed Martin over the manila folders. 

“Oh brilliant, I'll do that before I head out , I don't want to be taking folders off the premises and to be fair I don’t think my printer even has a scan feature at home.” 

Jon held his eye for a moment before looking down at the floor.

“Martin?”

“Yes Jon?”

“I don’t suppose you want to get a drink after work do you?”

Martin’s mind went blank. Had Jon just? No he couldn’t have...

“It’s ok if you don’t, I understand. It’s just well-”

“I can’t…” Before he even finished his sentence Jon’s face had fallen. He had gone pale.

“Oh.. ok, I just…” Jon mumbled as they got to the main office “ I Just… well never mind what I thought,... I’ll just…” Martin hadn’t ever seen Jon move as fast as he did darting across to his office.

“I can’t tonight, It’s visitation at the home.” he muttered at the closed door. 

“Pierdolić, “ Martin muttered all the way to the scanner, “For Fucks sake, “ he muttered as he scanned each page in, sending it to the cloud. “Do diaska!”

Jon had just asked him out for a drink, and his bloody mother had somehow managed to mess it up even when she wasn’t there. That had to be a Kordelia Blackwood record, maybe she belonged in one of these statements. 

He looked at his watch, it had just turned five.

If he left now he would make it to the home by half seven. 

Just in time to sit and contemplate all the ways the universe hated him for an hour, while his mother resolutely refused to speak to him in anything but polish and even then only to tell him he was just like his father. 

He looked at Jon’s closed office door as he passed it on the way out the archives, he paused debating if he should knock and say good night. 

He just didn’t know what to say, or what to do, his mind was such a muddle that he was already onboard the bus before he rationalised he should have at least said goodnight to Jon.

On the plus side, he had at least made Gerry blush. 

There was always that.

  
  
  


*****

* * *

  
  


To:  [ G.Delano@TheUsherfoundation.org ](mailto:G.Delano@TheUsherfoundation.org)

From : [ M.K.Blackwood@MagnusInstitute.ac.uk ](mailto:M.K.Blackwood@MagnusInstitute.ac)

Re: Casefiles

Attachments:4

Hi Gerry, 

Please find attached copies of the files as per our previous conversation.

Regards 

Martin. K. Blackwood 

Archival Assistant 

* * *

  
  


To: [ M.K.Blackwood@MagnusInstitute.ac.uk ](mailto:M.K.Blackwood@MagnusInstitute.ac)

From: [ G.Delano@TheUsherfoundation.org ](mailto:G.Delano@TheUsherfoundation.org)

Re: Casefiles

Hey Martin, 

All I received was 14 pages of weblings?

Gerry Delano

Research Associate 

* * *

  
  


To:  [ G.Delano@TheUsherfoundation.org ](mailto:G.Delano@TheUsherfoundation.org)

From : [ M.K.Blackwood@MagnusInstitute.ac.uk ](mailto:M.K.Blackwood@MagnusInstitute.ac)

Re: Casefiles

What? Really? It's fine on my end?

Martin

Archival Assistant

* * *

  
  


To: [ M.K.Blackwood@MagnusInstitute.ac.uk ](mailto:M.K.Blackwood@MagnusInstitute.ac)

From: [ G.Delano@TheUsherfoundation.org ](mailto:G.Delano@TheUsherfoundation.org)

Re: Casefiles

If you imagine the sound of a dial up connection and then try to write that sound down , it's 14 pages of that noise.

Gerry

Research Associate 

* * *

  
  
  


To:  [ G.Delano@TheUsherfoundation.org ](mailto:G.Delano@TheUsherfoundation.org)

From : [ M.K.Blackwood@MagnusInstitute.ac.uk ](mailto:M.K.Blackwood@MagnusInstitute.ac)

Re: Casefiles attempt 2

Attachments:4

How about now?

M

  
  


* * *

  
  


To: [ M.K.Blackwood@MagnusInstitute.ac.uk ](mailto:M.K.Blackwood@MagnusInstitute.ac)

From: [ G.Delano@TheUsherfoundation.org ](mailto:G.Delano@TheUsherfoundation.org)

Re: Casefiles wtf

Nope same again, can I call you?

Gerry

* * *

*****

It was two am, Martin had not slept, at all. 

His visit to his mother had gone about as swimmingly as it normally did. 

The added annoyance of his disastrous run in with Jon was not helping matters. 

He kept replaying it in his mind. 

Maybe that was it. 

What if that had been the one chance to finally do something about the way he felt about Jon?

Would that be the only chance he would get?

Well, if it was he had blown it. 

Martin had paced his flat for a good hour now, trawling through social media.

Reading sub par poetry on forums that he should probably have stopped visiting when he was in his late teens, but nostalgia would not let him leave. 

He was a mess; he knew he was a mess, mentally and physically. 

At least his mother’s words no longer hurt him the way they used to. 

It was hard to feel pain from her cast away lines, when all she directed at him now was hollow empty insults. 

It was as if trying to think of something new to throw at him would exhaust too much of the little energy she had left. 

He had been too caught up in his own pity party to pay much mind to the phone in his hand.

He had sent Gerry his number almost without thinking.

It wasn’t until his phone began ringing that Martin realised he had actually hit send on his drafted email. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi Martin, It’s Gerry.” the other man sounded nervous as if he expected Martin to hang up on him at any second. The sound of it did something strange in his chest, like it was reaching out to him , it wanted this man near and it was ridiculous. 

Martin barely knew him yet he was scared he might lose him already? God was he that desperate for human interactions that he was latching on to the first person who showed him the slightest bit of friendship?

“I guessed. I don’t exactly have many people calling me in the middle of the night.” Martin caught sight of himself in the reflection of his window, he looked in a sorry state. His hair was sticking up in a million directions and the bags under his eyes were even noticeable in the distorted reflection that stared back at him in the mirror of night-time London. He was glad this wasn’t a video call.

“Really?” Gerry sounded genuinely surprised. 

“Yes really.” Martin was a little taken back by shock in Gerry’s voice. 

“I’d say sorry I woke you, but I'm guessing you were up already seeing as how you were answering your emails?”

“Yeah I was awake, don’t worry about it. So the files aren't coming through? Martin paced his flat as he pinned the phone between his shoulder and his ear. 

“Is it always business, no pleasure with you?” Gerry joked down the line and Martin was glad he couldn’t see the grin that had spread over his face. 

“You mean to say that this isn’t a business call?” Martin said with his voice a lot steadier than he expected , he had never been a good flirt, too easy to fall over his own words and say something stupid around men he found attractive … his mind stalled.

Was he flirting with Gerry? 

Maybe he was? 

Objectively the man was stupidly handsome, but he was also on the other side of the Atlantic ocean. 

Maybe that was it, maybe it was because flirting with Gerry was safe? 

There was a huge body of water between the two of them and a five hour time difference. 

“Well, I did say I wouldn’t mind talking to you outside of work.” Gerry paused. “But We can keep it strictly business if you want?”

No, Martin very much didn't want that, some part of him wanted to hear what Gerry had to say for himself. 

If that part of him was currently in an emotional fist fight with whatever hope he was holding out for Jon to ever look his way, well the Jon corner could take a back seat or it was in danger of a k.o. 

“You never did tell me why you really left London…” Martin started getting himself settled on the sofa and gazing out into the cold London night. 

Sleep was overrated anyway, and he really wanted to hear what Gerry had to say for himself. 

  
  
  


*****

Jon lay awake staring at the lights of the passing cars as they raced each other across the ceiling tiles.

What had he been thinking? Obviously Martin didn’t want to get drinks with him. 

Why would he want to get drinks with his overbearing brash boss.

He kept replaying every negative interaction he'd had with Martin since they started working together. 

He hated that the list was so long and that it had no discernible beginning or end.

He should have told Martin how he felt when they were trapped in document storage, while Martin tended to his open wounds and applied pressure to the worm holes that seemed to not want to stop bleeding. 

He could still remember how intensely Martin had held his gaze. 

How they had been so close Jon could feel every exhale from Martin’s mouth as he applied ointment to the wounds that ran along Jon’s cheek bones. 

How he had wanted to just lean forward, take him in hand and kiss the man. 

And now that would never happen because he had totally messed it up.

He wished he had someone to talk to about it.

But who did he have really? 

He couldn’t keep piling his messed up feelings on Tim, it wasn’t fair.

He had to just accept facts. Martin wasn't interested.

Martin was just a nice guy , and Jon was just so starved for affection he had gravitated to the first person that smiled at him and cared enough that he didn’t want to see him die of his own stupidity.

He just wished he didn’t feel so lonely.

  
  


*****

Gerry had been walking back to his air b'n'b when he had gotten the emails from Martin. 

He shouldn’t have smiled like a fool at his phone, but he didn’t care, it wasn’t as if anyone was paying any attention to him as he traversed around the docks anyway.. 

Being hidden behind a scarf blocking out the bitter cold and snow would have shielded him from most prying eyes, he was sure of it.

He was hoping that the files that Martin sent would give him some answers, no amount of digging around in ports could get him any more information on the Tundra. 

The ship had docked a few weeks ago and it was too much of a coincidence that it pulled in to port at the same time as the Dorian.

Gerry was being increasingly careful about the latter. 

Mikaela Salesa was not a man who forgot a face, and he was certain that the man would be quick to identify Gertrude’s prodigy. 

The longer Gerard Keay stayed a dead man the better. 

Gerry had mixed feelings about the merchant. On one hand the man hated Leitner just as much as Gerry did . That would almost be a selling point putting him into the column of people that Gerry might actually trust at a push. 

But on the other hand the man dealt in cursed items, had a high crew mortality rate, and hung around with Peter Lukas.

What had caused the two of them to come together?

Gerry figured it wasn’t going to be for quick catch up. So that only meant something nefarious. 

Part of him wished he could just go back to burning books, it hadn’t been fun but at least the payoff was easy to come by.

He walked now in the halogen soaked streets towards his downtown apartment.

If he was going to be using someone else's money to pay for it, what was one fancy apartment when your main benefactor was probably some crusty old cult member with more money than sense. He’d had enough of cramped old upstairs flats above bookstores and shitty motels to last him another lifetime. 

He doubted that The Usher foundation cared as long as he submitted his reports on time and didn’t cause a scene when he inevitably questioned their moral compass.

He had been chatting to Martin now for almost half an hour. 

He had know idea what was getting into him. He had become rather fond of the other man in quite the short space of time, yet every time he saw him he could feel every single one of his tattoos almost swerve to look at him closer, even the ones under his clothes.

Was it the eye trying to tempt him back in? 

The phone call had been one of his better ideas. 

But even over the phone he was feeling a strange pull. 

He liked listening to the other man talk, he was talking about nothing in particular, but Gerry hung on every word. 

“So how do you know so much about the institute?” Martin asked eventually as Gerry reached the door and let himself inside, towing off his boots and heaving off his heavy winter jacket. 

This was what he was trying to avoid, he didn’t know how much of his reputation precedes him, how much Martin knew about his mother, or the institute before Jon had taken up tenure as the head of Archives. 

Christ he didn’t even know how long Martin had worked in the institute, maybe he had been around when Gerry had been gracing the halls traipsing around after Gertrude like some lost puppy. 

“I had...family who used to work for Magnus, My dad when he was alive and my…” he paused , how to describe Gertrude, what had she been to him? Certainly not a friend. “My grandmother.” Oh Gertrude would have hated that.

“I suppose it makes sense then that you took after them, did you never think about working here?” Martin asked

“I… it was complicated.” well it wasn’t a lie. It was complicated. As in Elias would rather have gouged out his own eyes then let Gerry ever get paid for the work he did.

On the other end of the phone Gerry could hear Martin trying to stifle a yawn, he should let him go, it had to be at least three am now back in England, it wasn’t fair to keep the man up even if he wanted to keep him talking. 

It was selfish. 

“Martin, You should get some sleep.” 

“It’s fine .”

“Martin, I will just hang up, get some sleep. I'm gonna jump in the shower anyway, have a look and see if I can work out what's going on in the files you sent me,”

He didn’t want to go, not really. 

“Whatever you do, don't try and multitask, do not look at the files while in the shower.” Martin yawned again. 

“Oh there's much better things to do in a shower than work.” Oh god that sounded wrong, and it was now putting images in his mind that he had no right to be letting in there.

Martin gave a nervous laugh at the other end of the phone. 

Shit he had taken it the wrong way hadn’t he. 

Thing is ,Gerry wasn’t a hundred percent certain that he had meant it in an innocent way at all. 

What the hell had gotten into him.

_ Martin if you play your cards right,  _ pepped up the little voice in the back of his mind. 

He would have to have words with that voice later .

“I’ll try scanning the files on again from work, maybe it’s something to do with my laptop...and my phone…” Martin didn’t sound convinced.

“Yeah… I'll call you tomorrow, same time half four u.k?” He tried not to sound too hopeful. Hope just got you hurt.

He could hear the smile in Martin's sleep laden voice “Yeah, sounds perfect, G’night Gerry speak to you tomorrow.”

“Night Martin.” 

He stared at the screen until it timed out, when it did his reflection on the black screen didn’t look like him at all Gerard Keay didn’t smile for a start, at least not like that.

Maybe Gerry Delano would get used to seeing it on his face eventually, but for now he just threw his phone on the bench and headed to the bathroom.

He had a lot to think about.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yell at me here or find me on Tumblr @pezilla.


	3. Chapter 3

Sasha at least waited until Tim had gone off to retrieve something from research before she wheeled her chair up to Martin's side and began bugging him.

“You have been grinning at your phone all day Blackwood, give up the gossip.” she said leaning in as close as she could and patting him on the nose.

Martin gently pushed her face out of his own personal space, then tried to manoeuvre her back over to her side of the desk using his feet to push her office chair. 

He was going to have to take the wheels from her chair as well wasn’t he? 

That had been the only way he stopped Tim scooting around the office like some sort of hermit crab on his. 

Sometimes Sasha was just as bad as Tim, and somehow four times as nosey.

“No, Gossip . It's just Gerry.” He muttered, sliding his phone into his pocket. 

“Hum, I think you’ll find that when you look down at your crotch and smile because you got a text. That sort of falls into the realms of Gossip. Especially as you keep trying to hide the texts from prying eyes.” Damn it Sasha was too observant for her own good. 

“Just work business.” he aimed for nonchalance and missed.

“Liar, there is absolutely nothing in our line of work that justifies you smiling at your own lap like that.” Sasha had slowly been inching her way back across the expanse of the desk, as if by moving extremely slow he wouldn’t notice her actions.

“It  _ is  _ work business, we're just trying to work out why the files I sent him last night haven't gone over. When he called me, he said they had all gone to weblings?” 

He tried to fix his gaze on the words before him in his statement. But Sasha was circling like a shark. It was going to be impossible to concentrate when she was looking at him like prey.

“When he  _ called  _ you last night?” She prodded. “As in outside office hours?”

“Maybe?”

“Martin Blackwood, tell me everything now.” 

  
  
  


*****

Tim was sitting cross armed, his feet slung up on the desk, his eyes fixed on Jon.

He had been gazing at him for the last ten minutes, as if waiting for Jon to speak first. 

Whatever the tasty bit of gossip was that had fallen into Tim’s lap, Jon was at a loss to understand what he had to do with it, or why Tim felt the need to drag him into office politics.

“So..”

“So what?” Jon was not in the mood to play Tim’s games. Martin had only been in to see him once so far today, the usual morning tea round. Thankfully Jon had been on the phone to Elias so it saved him from having to confront the rejection from last night head on. But now, he was desperate for the loo and the idea of having to go across the archives was on par with running a gauntlet through a pit full of deadly vipers. 

“I take it you said something to Martin?” Tim removed his feet from the desk and lent forward till he was almost sprawled across the desk and into Jon’s space on the other side.

Oh god, what had Martin said to them? Had he told them he had made a complete idiot of himself?

Why was Tim looking at him with a cheerful grin on his face? 

That didn’t seem to tally up with the scenarios that were running through his head. 

“Martin’s been walking around with a right goofy grin on his face all morning…”

“That has nothing to do with me, I’m afraid.” Jon felt something grab in the back of his throat, like he was suddenly about to retch but there was nothing to bring up.

“Oh, I just figured that after our brief chat yesterday-”

“I asked him to drinks. He said no, now can we get on with case 0110209. ”

“Yeah.. course… he definitely said no?” Tim seemed confused by this turn of event’s but Jon did not want to elaborate upon it, not when it was so fresh in his mind.

The scathing look Jon gave him must have landed because Tim got to his feet, rubbing his hands together… “Right case 011029 right you are…”

Nobody locked his door anymore at his request, the only time it was closed now was if there was an interview or if he was recording a statement. 

So now, with the door wedged open, he could see Sasha and Martin talking in hushed tones as Tim walked over to join them at their large shared desk.

When Tim took a seat, he noticed they seemed to halt their conversation. 

Martin looked red in the face, it made his freckles stand out so much that Jon could pick them out even at a distance. Had Martin been filling Sasha in on the mortifying ordeal of being hit on by the boss? 

He should get on with his case files. 

He should be recording. But he watched Martin through the gap in the door instead. Wishing that he wasn’t so completely useless at people. 

  
  


******

“Jon?” 

Martin edged the door open and entered quietly with Jon’s favourite cup in one hand and the stack of the problematic files in the other. 

He hadn’t wanted to ask Jon about them again, aware that last night was still hovering heavy over their head. 

But he had been assigned the task. He needed to see it through. He was sick of people assuming he was useless at everything, incapable of finishing tasks just because he hit a hurdle, he knew already that Jon thought him incompetent in his job.

He had tried scanning the files from his work P.c rather than the snazzy laptop that they issued all institute employees with. The P.c was old and clunky, but sometimes it did the job that lightweight fancy laptops just couldn’t. Maybe it could send the files to Gerry with more success?

Yet still the files had come through gibberish. 

Martin was currently in possession of the images of the distorted scans. 

Sasha was none the wiser, and Tim had just told him it was bad form to send dick pics on company time. 

He hadn’t known what he expected from Tim, but at least he hadn’t tried to prove his point. Reassuring him it was probably some data protection bullshit that Elias had instigated. The double boss was meticulous at hiding things, and even better at keeping things for himself. 

So, Martin had finally bitten the bullet after Tim and Sasha had left to chase up on a case. 

He would ask Jon if he had any ideas what was happening to the files. After all, it had been him who had worked out a way around the statement recording glitch.

Jon didn’t look up when he came in the room, his eyes glazed and distant, a thousand tabs open on his laptop and a word document open on his P.c. 

“Jon?” Martin tried again, this time Jon shook himself out of his daze. 

“Oh,” Jon looked up at him, closing the laptop lid as he did so. But he hadn’t been quick enough, Martin had spotted the open screen, the Usher Foundation logo and the name Gerry Delano heading the open tabs. 

This was going to become a problem sooner rather than later at this rate. 

If Jon had just taken the bloody call in the first place...

Martin schooled his face. He had become an expert in poker face with Jon, now was not the time to let that slip. 

He handed Jon his tea, no biscuits, because it was Friday and Sasha had snaffled the last of the hobnobs this morning on the first round of tea. He would have to add it to the list of things he needed to do on the way in on Monday morning. 

Jon probably would go the full shift without eating if he didn’t provide him with oat based biscuits and Kitkats throughout his working day. 

“Can I ask you something?”

Then Martin did something he rarely did, at least not without Jon telling him to. He sat down in the guest chair across from Jon, the pile of statements in his hand. He placed it on the table without a word. 

Jon raised an eyebrow behind the porcelain of his favourite mug (the blue one with the fat cat on it) and indicated he should go on with an incline of his head.

“When you were having issues with getting the statements to record, did you have any issues with any other formats other than the digital?”

“Not that I’m aware. When they didn’t record to the laptop, we turned to the tapes, as you know. Why do you ask?” Jon placed his tea down on a space on his desk forgoing the coaster buried in discarded statements. 

“The attachments I sent to…” He really didn’t want to bring Gerry up, but he didn’t seem to have much choice in the matter, he was sure that Jon tensed up before he went on “I sent to Gerry, they are coming up on his end like this.” He handed his phone over to Jon, the photo showed the mess of noise on the open screen of a laptop back-lit with the New York skyline.

Jon scanned the phone a few times, as if trying to work out the secrets of the universe in one slightly blurred image on a mobile . 

“I was just wondering if you had experienced anything similar?”

Jon shook his head, “Nothing like that... but maybe... if there is truth in the statements, the written version might not move digitally through email in much the same way they fail to record? Have you asked Sasha?”

“She said to ask you.”

“We had to go old school with the recordings, maybe a fax would do it?” Jon pondered , still looking anywhere but at Martin where he sat across the desk.

“Does the institute even still have a fax machine?” Martin pondered out loud. Even if he could find one, was it likely that Gerry would find one at the other end? 

New York wasn’t exactly moving at a snail's pace with technology, there was every chance that there would be nowhere for him to receive a fax too. 

Martin had already started texting Gerry before he realised that might not be the best thing to be doing in front of Jon. 

Sure enough, Jon was watching him as he tapped on the screen. 

“You’re texting, Gerry? Now?” Martin couldn’t pinpoint the expression on Jon’s face but he knew he didn’t like it.

“It’s easier to navigate time zones this way, means he can text me when I'm at home.” And I like talking to him, he didn’t add aloud.

“I thought you disliked being contacted outside of business hours?” Jon had reverted to that stupid cocky voice he put on when he liked to pretend he knew what he was talking about.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” it confused martin, when had he ever said anything of the sorts?

The only time he had his phone off was when he went to visit his mother, and that was just because she occasionally convinced herself that Russian spies were out to get her. Or that Martin was working for the C.I.A. 

It was concerning when she lumped it in with her digression to when she married his dad, accusing Martin of being married to the Job and being obsessed with the bloody sea. 

He hated that he looked so much like him.

He also really wished Jon would just ask instead of assume things. It was getting annoying.

“Jon, Tim will happily call me at three am to ask if I’ll get him his breakfast on the way in to work. It’s not as if I have a thrilling social life.” he looked down at the phone in his hand when it vibrated and almost missed the shocked look upon Jon’s face.

**Gerry**

**The public library has one, give me ten, and I’ll get the number**

**Martin**

**Ok, this place has to have one somewhere, right ?**

**Gerry**

**Try reception**

“You were busy yesterday though.” Martin picked up on the muttering under Jon’s breath, he didn’t know if he had enough energy to be dealing with this right now, but it would go nowhere unless he knocked it on the head early, Jon would brood on it for weeks.

“Yesterday” he said, getting to his feet. “Yesterday I had to see my mother at Shady acres. The same way I have every Thursday night for the last year give or take Wormageddon. Now if you don’t mind I’m going to ask Rosie if she still has a Fax machine because apparently I’ve fallen through a time loop and I require one.” 

Martin felt Jon’s eyes on him all the way to the base of the stairs.

  
  
  


******

When Gerry saw the fuzzy static printing from the machine, it took all of his patience not to throw something or angrily kick a chair. 

It was as if the Archives were trying to protect themselves by blocking off contact to the outside world. 

It was looking increasingly likely that if Gerry was going to get to the bottom of his investigation; he was going to have to take matters into his own hands. 

He thanked the librarian and paid for his faxes, useless as they were. 

It was early; the streets were still crowded with the early morning business commute.

It remained one of the loneliest places he had ever been. 

He could feel the skin under his tattoo’s twitching, he was being watched. Whether it was by one of the millions of eyes that passed him in the street or the influence of the Stranger that glared down from neon billboards on every side, he couldn’t quite place it. 

He stepped through the steam vent, unsure if it was the icy talons of the forsaken that tinged the mist or it was just the typical cast off detritus of downtown, the two could well be mixed, the colours faded now to a muddy background colour that he couldn’t pick a single entity from. He didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

Gerry knew he was living on borrowed time. It was only a matter who and when. 

He stepped into his favourite deli. 

While he waited for his order, the next woman in line kept glancing at his hands while his fingers danced across the surface of his phone, texting Martin.

He angled the phone away. There was something unnervingly familiar about the green eyes that caught his eye as he looked up when the server called his name.

As much as he hated to fall under the protection of the eye, he was going to have to choose a side. And as usual, Beholding felt like the lesser of several evils. 

As he headed back towards the apartment, he didn’t put his gloves back on. 

If the eye wanted to know what he was up to, it would be on his terms.

******

  
  


“Did you have any luck with the fax machine?” 

Martin looked less than amused by the fact Jon had followed him into the stacks.

And to be fair, Jon had no real reason to be doing it, he just wanted to see Martin.

He had been beating himself up about jumping to the wrong conclusion ever since their earlier conversation, and now he was determined to try again. 

Maybe if he asked Martin out for lunch, he would have more luck than after-work drinks?

It was becoming an irritation now, bothering him so much that he had barely registered the email from Elias inquiring why the archive staff were looking into expenses, or the angry woman that had come in to make a statement. 

Well, she hadn't started off as angry. 

But when the person taking your statement is so distracted that you can change your statement to describe dancing pink elephants and they only hum and nod on autopilot, well that was enough to make anyone a little mad.

Jon knew he was annoying, he had carved his space in society as the annoying kid easily. 

He hadn’t really needed the spade that came labelled, ‘weird orphan that lives with his gran’ to help him find that little hole to place himself in. 

That had come naturally. 

He had friends growing up, but they came and went.

Either Jon had decided that his books were too interesting or he inadvertently handled a social situation in completely the wrong way, people didn’t stick around long.

People were complicated, friendships were messy, and whatever  _ this _ was he felt for Martin? Well, if he negotiated that with even an ounce of friendship left at the end of it it was going to be a miracle. 

Martin was sitting in the little reading nook that they had carved out at the back of the archives under the stairs. 

It wasn’t much, just a few old bucket seats that looked like they had been stolen from the reception in the late seventies and had never quite made it to the skip they had been destined for, an old overhead reading light in the nook that had somehow passed the electrical inspection yet again at the beginning of the month and an old card table that currently doubled as a desk. 

Martin sat, his laptop open, tea in hand and looked confused why Jon had followed him.

“No, the Fax had the same issues, I'm guessing whatever stops us from going digital dislikes the ones and zeros in any form.” Martin ran his hands across his face frustrated. 

“I’m just going to give Gerry an edited highlight of the statements I guess, It’s not ideal but then with this place what is-” Martin's eyes snapped to his laptop where the sound of an incoming call was making itself known. 

Martin looked back up as if waiting for Jon to leave, but he had no intention of doing that. 

He was determined to know more about this Gerry Delano. The name had pulled nothing up in searches; it was as if he didn’t exist . 

There was a Delano in the old Institute employee records, but the last entry was some point around 1985 and they never appeared again. He disliked the barely concealed smirk Sasha had plastered to her face as she provided him with that information.

So no, he wasn’t going anywhere until he got a few answers, or at least a look at this Gerry character. Facts, that was all, absolutely positively not competition.

Defiantly he walked over and plonked himself in the other chair beside Martin, showing that he should answer the call. 

After all, the request had originally been for the archivist to assist him;  he was just fulfilling that request.

He couldn’t quite read the expression on Martin’s face, it was a mix between resolute and mortified as begrudgingly he reached out to accept the call.

  
  
  


*****

Gerry was excited to see Martin. 

It was sad really, when you thought about it.

Did he have so little in his life that made him happy that he was excited to have a work call with an almost stranger from the other side of the world, just so he could feel a connection?

But was Martin a stranger? It didn’t feel like it anymore. 

He knew Martin's favorite colour (Yellow), his favorite drink (Earl grey two sugars no milk), that he lived alone and that his mother was a waste of oxygen. 

Even with only those few things it was the closest thing he had to a connection to another living being in years. 

In the space of three days, he knew Martin better than he ever had Gertrude. 

He couldn’t even tell you how she took her coffee. He had partaken in breakfast with her in at least seven different states and over three continents, and he couldn’t even tell you if she took milk or not. 

So yes, he was excited to see Martin, to speak to Martin. 

If he was pleasant to look at as they spoke, well that was just a bonus wasn’t it.

So when the call connected and there was someone with Martin… well it was unsettling.

Martin sat in his usual chair, yellow checked shirt and beanie hat pulled down over his dark curls, but beside him sat another man. His dark hair tied back in a bun, salt and pepper streaks running through it dressed like a caricature of a librarian, right down to the square glasses that parched upon his nose. 

But that wasn’t what had caught Gerry’s attention. 

It was the almost violent glow of the beholding that seemed to emanate of the man that grabbed him by the gut and squeezed. 

This man was someone that the Eye had a vested interest in, he could feel it, see it even. Almost every one of his tattoo’s felt as if they twisted to look at the screen. 

So this must be the new Archivist, this must be Jon. 

He could see the forsaken shifting around the pair of them, strangely it seemed to loosen its grip on Martin in this other man’s presence. 

Gerry could see the pale fog rolling back where the faint green of the beholding pushed its way towards Martin. 

Well that answered his question. The beholding definitely had its tendrils in Martin Blackwood, but it wasn’t the institute, it was this Jon that clung to him hovering like a moth to the flame.

“Martin, and Jon I take it?” 

Martin shifted uncomfortably. 

“Hey Gerry, yeah this is Jon. Jon, this is Gerry.” he indicated to the screen with the hand that currently wasn’t wrapped so tightly around his mug his fingers were turning white. 

Jon said nothing, he was too busy looking at the screen. 

Gerry

could feel the Eye on him, he could feel it reaching through the screen and scrutinising everything about him. 

“Hello Mr Keay, you’re looking remarkably chipper for a dead man.”

It came as no surprise when Jon spoke. 

To be fair, it had surprised him it had taken this long for someone to figure it out.

“Didn’t stick.” He offered raising his hand to his hair to push it out of his face, his fingers flexing as the tattooed eyes worked their way through his dark locks complaining at being denied this titbit of drama .

“What?” Martin looked confused. He was looking from the screen to Jon for answers, his face twisted in a look that Gerry didn’t like at all.

“I am surprised you didn’t work it out Martin,” Jon offered.

“Work what out?” Martin looked annoyed now, it did nothing for him, Gerry wished he could reach through the screen and smooth the angry v shape that was forming between his brows. 

The green of the beholding was wrapping itself tighter around Martin as they spoke. 

It wanted him to know, to find out ever hungry for more knowledge.

“I take it my name crops up in a few of your statements then? Gertrude tried to keep me out of it as best she could, but not even she could bury them all I guess.” he addressed Jon. 

The man’s gaze almost pinned him to the spot. 

The watcher had him well and truly in his grasps, did Jon know that? 

Was he aware of the way his piece was allowed to move across this eldritch chessboard? That Elias was most likely playing him for a fool and that he would likely never have the full pack of cards?

“Yes, you're in a few. Including the one about you being very much dead.” Jon held eye contact, but Gerry didn’t blink, you didn’t survive around Gertrude unless you slept with one eye open and had a stubborn streak a mile long yourself.

“For the love off…” Martin was getting frustrated now “Will someone please explain what is going on?”

“Martin, This man is Gerard Keay, Son of Mary Keay, I believe you might know him better as ‘that Goth that hunts Leitner’s for fun’.” Gerry had to admit it wasn’t the worst description he had ever heard about himself.

“But he’s dead! Me and Sasha did the follow up…” Martin turned his attention to the screen “Gerry?”

“He’s right Martin, I took my Dad’s name after… well all that.”

“But that doesn't explain how…” Martin got to his feet he had gone pale “I need some air.” he disappeared from the screen and Jon’s eyes followed him the smokey green tendrils following in Martin’s wake. 

“Well, that could have gone better.” Gerry sighed as Jon turned his attention back to the screen. 

“So what do you really want Mr Keay?” Jon asked leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees he stared at him over conjoined hands. Gerry felt the words slip to the tip of his tongue. 

That shouldn’t work through video, Jon was obviously more eye aligned than he thought. 

“It’s Gerry, the less I'm associated with my mother the better thankyou.” He was glad he had built up a bit of a resistance to this Archivist trick, it impressed him that his resistance was still as strong when he wasn’t completely aligned.

“Hum, That is understandable.” Jon nodded, and Gerry found himself getting a good look at the man's face. He looked even more shattered than Martin. If that was even possible.

“As for what I need from the Institute, I need to know how much I can trust you. I’d rather keep this as far away from Elias as I can.”

“That is even more understandable than your first statement. However, you should know, Elias knows that someone has been requesting holdings and donation information about the Lukas accounts.” 

The way Jon twisted his face when he spoke Elias’s name spoke volumes, he could trust Jon. 

“That doesn’t surprise me. How much do you know about Peter Lukas?”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

The weekend dragged, especially as Martin had made a point of turning off his phone. He very much wanted to be alone.

He didn’t want to talk to anyone, not Tim, not Sasha and most definitely not Jon.

He felt like he was the butt of a cosmic joke and he would very much like to bury his head in the sand. 

The entire last seven days had been too much. He just wanted to remove himself from the chaos, just for one weekend he wanted nothing at all to do with anyone. Especially not Gerry.

If he wanted to lie in bed and watch every episode of mystery science theatre, he could find on Netflix, well that was his coping mechanism and he would not be shifted on it. Let him nurse the aches and pains and left over lag from the panic attack that had wiped out his energy reserves. 

He wasn’t hurting anyone if all he had the energy to do was potter around the flat baking cookies and eating ice cream straight out the tub like a big old cliche. The only thing he was damaging was his pride, and that was almost non-existent to start with. So it wasn’t like it was a massive drop in hit points if he devoured an entire tub of Aldi’s finest unicorn sparkle surprise while watching Bela Lugosi being riffed by a gumball machine and a baseball mitt.

  
  


Yet as he got dressed and stood brushing his teeth, he couldn’t help but feel hurt by the fact that Gerry hadn't just told him who he really was.

Why was he so bothered?

That was the question that kept running through his mind, just why was he so bothered what this person thought of him? 

He tried to concentrate on his book on the tube into work, but his mind kept wandering, repeating the same few facts over in his mind. 

Gerard Keay was dead. 

Martin had seen the coroner's report himself, yet whoever had been speaking to him for the last seven days  _ was _ Gerard Keay. 

He had been through all the possibilities. It was the only thing that made sense. 

It was the only reason Gerry could have known the things he knew.

The only way he would have known how to decipher Gertrude's backwards filing system. 

Martin cursed the fact he had left the institute in such a rush on Friday. Because of that, he had left his laptop in the Archives and he wanted to investigate. 

That itch to trawl the web and see if he could find anything at all that pointed to how a man can come back from the dead was strong. He was becoming as bad as Sasha for having to get to the bottom of the facts. He was never like this when he worked in the library; he wondered how much of it was down to him feeling like he had something to prove to Jon? But his only internet access was his phone and that currently remained switched off in the bottom of his bag. So he was no further forward and just felt even more confused by the situation.

Somehow he knew that Gerry already cared enough to have desperately been trying to get in touch with him and that was making him dread turning on his phone all the more.

Gerry would care. That somehow made the lies harder to swallow.

No, he shouldn’t call them lies, Gerry had just not told the entire truth, something that had been second nature to Martin for so long that it surprised him that he hadn’t picked up on it sooner. 

Maybe that was it, maybe he saw himself in Gerry? 

Whatever it was, it hurt. 

And as for Jon?

Well, if Martin was taking his sweet time meandering along the banks of the Themes on his way in to work to avoid the inevitable run in with Jon, it was very much intentional. 

The early morning smog still hung heavy on the river as he passed the Tate, around him people walked their head ducked against the chill. The chattering of conversation and the gridlocked traffic muted by the wind that blew up out of the water.

For the first time in a long time, he felt completely alone. 

To Martin's surprise, Jon was waiting for him on the steps outside the front door when he finally got to work. 

Jon looked like he hadn’t slept since the last time Martin had seen him, in all probability he probably hadn’t.

Jon was wearing the same thick black jumper and black jeans he had been wearing on Friday, not that that was any good indicator. Jon’s personal care was often the last thing on the list with his day-to-day existence, he had worn the same sweater vest and shirt for almost a fortnight once before Tim had insisted he went home and had a damn wash or at least got a change of clothes.

So when Jon saw him, and almost ran down the steps to meet him, the first thing that came to Martin’s lips was

“Have you even been home?”

“What? Of course I have. Despite popular belief I don’t actually live here, you know.” Jon came to a halt directly before him, the look of worry clear on his sleep deprived face. He stared up at Martin for a moment then grabbed him by the elbow, it took Martin a second to realise that the pulling was because Jon wanted him to follow him. 

  
  


Jon led them round the corner and down the quieter side streets, towards the busy shopping district. 

It was just far enough away that it felt like leaving work behind if you nipped out for a sandwich in one of the numerous cafes and restaurants that dotted the bustling street.

Jon still hadn’t dropped his grip from Martin’s elbow as he guided him into one of the quieter cafes, ushering him into a seat, the shorter man tapping away on his phone as he did so. 

“What’s this about?” Martin flustered as Jon looked around the café nervously. “What’s going on?”

Jon did one more sweep of the café with his eyes before turning his attention to Martin. That level of observation turned on him made his stomach plummet.

“We need to talk about Gerry, and it would be better if we didn’t do it inside of the institute.” Jon pulled his glasses off, scrubbing at the bags under his eyes with the back of his hand. He looked even more tired this close up. He really needed a nap, or seventy. 

“Jon honestly, I didn’t know-”

“I know Martin I know, just… what do you want for breakfast?”

  
  


*****

Jon carried the two cups back to the table. Although he had asked for no milk, the woman behind the counter was so intent on watching the news on the tv screen she barely paid him any mind at all. Martin wouldn’t like it, he preferred his tea black but Jon knew he would drink it anyway just to be polite. 

Martin hadn’t been answering his calls. Or his text’s, and Jon had been so worried that he had even gone as far as finding Martin’s address in his personnel file. Only, It was not updated and when Jon called to the address; he found it occupied by a short blond Geordie woman, who insisted he at least come in for a coffee while she looked to see if there was a forwarding address in with her rental agreement. There wasn’t, but as Jon had glanced around the off-white walls, he couldn’t help but look for the tell-tale flashes of silver.

Jon had text Gerry, Martin hadn’t been answering Gerry’s calls either, and when Jon had asked Tim to see if Martin would answer him or Sasha, they reported back with the same hopeless result. 

Martin had all but fallen off the face of the planet.

Again.

  
  


The last time that had happened he had been held hostage for thirteen days by a flesh hive. To say that Jon was relieved to see him walk up the street to the institute would have been an understatement. 

He was ecstatic; he had been so sure something disastrous had happened. 

Jon had to reach out and touch Martin, just to make sure he was actually real. 

He was a little more convinced now he had felt the reassuring solidness of Martin’s elbow under his palm.

“So what needs to be so covert we can't talk in the archives?” Martin asked sipping at the tea he was handed, he wrinkled his nose up at it just as Jon knew he would. 

Martin drank his tea black with two sugars, a fact that Jon wasn’t sure when had come into his possession. But it was just part of the patchwork that made up the bit of his mind that he dedicated to Martin. His little locked box that nobody could ever know about. The place he ferreted away little morsels of Martin lore to ponder over whenever his mind took fancy.

“There’s something weird going on in the archives.”

“What? More than the usual level of weirdness?” 

“I think Gerry is on to something, Elias seems concerned that we are asking the right questions about something, I just wish I knew what.” Jon sipped his tea, it was awful as he knew it would be but it was warm and it gave him something to do with his hands. 

Keeping his hands busy was important, or else he might do something stupid and impulsive like reach out and place his hand on the one Martin currently had resting on the table by the sugar canister.

“So… Gerry?” Martin asked tentatively.

Gerry, now that was a confusing situation all around and Jon wasn't sure where to even start. Surprisingly, Gerry had been just as concerned about Martin as Jon was when he couldn’t get him on the phone. They had emailed back and forth for hours before Gerry had just given in and called him. 

At some point Jon had given Gerry his number, or had it been the other way around? He couldn’t remember, but somehow it had found its way into his phone nestled in between Georgie’s and Martin’s name like it had always been there. 

The worry in his voice when he had asked if Jon had heard from Martin had sounded so soft and genuine it was difficult to believe it came from the same person who had been on Martin’s laptop.

Gerry was not what Jon had been expecting. 

He wasn’t dead to start with. 

But from the statements and the glances at the man’s reputation that scattered through them, Gerard Keay was not living up to the scary goth persona that had earned his place in the archives. 

Gerry Delano was a mystery. 

That was like catnip to Jon, and he knew he wouldn’t rest until he knew exactly how a dead man was walking. 

“He was worried about you. I was worried about you. What possessed you to just disappear? What if the worms had come for you again?” Jon could tell by the way Martin’s face dropped he hadn’t even thought about the way him disappearing could look. 

“I am .. so sorry, I didn’t even… I am such an idiot.” Martin reached for his bag pulling out his phone. 

As he brought it back to life, it vibrates uncontrollably making the other man's face drop even more.

“I didn’t… I swear…”

“It’s fine!” In a move that came from a bolder man than he, Jon reached out placing his hand over Martins where it sat on the table. Martin glanced at it and Jon felt the man flex his fingers under his own, but he didn’t shove him off. 

Martin’s face was panicked and seemed to twist painfully as he read the list of missed calls and texts that his friend had been bombarding him with for the last forty-eight hours. 

Jon gave Martin’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“Martin, calm down, it’s fine honest. You’re here now. I’ve text Tim and Sasha, but I haven’t heard from Gerry since Saturday night, I text him but he hasn’t picked it up”

“Really?”

“Seems you're not the only one that can do a disappearing act .” 

Jon longed to trace his thumb along the curve of Martin's wrist, to feel the heartbeat he knew was just beyond the reach of his fingers drumming through the other man’s wrist.

“Yeah, but the difference is Gerry was concerned someone was following him, that he was being watched... I just had a bloody panic attack.” Martin looked like he was on the verge of another one as he scrolled through his phone. “What if something happened to him! I shouldn’t have turned my phone off.” 

Jon stroked his hand over the back of Martins, trying to calm him down. 

This was way over his head in more than one way. 

He had no idea how to talk someone down from a panic attack, what did you do? What did you say?

“I'm sure nothing bad has happened, for all we know this might just be something Gerry does, it’s not as if we know him all that well.” Jon knew he had said the wrong thing as soon as the words left his mouth. 

Martin tugged his hand from underneath Jon’s. Gripping his phone more steadily with both hands. 

“That doesn’t help,” Martin muttered as the server brought over two bacon sandwiches and a stack of toast, depositing them on the table without even a second glance. 

Jon hadn’t exactly picked this place for its sterling customer service, and he was glad for it because the last thing Martin needed right now was someone drawing attention to the fact he looked like he was about to burst into tears.

“The last text I have from him is just gibberish, just a lot of shorthand and numbers or something. What if something happened to him and it’s all my fault?” Martin exclaimed, pushing the heels of his wrists into his forehead but not relinquishing his grip on the phone in his hands.

“He seemed perfectly calm when I spoke to him last.” 

That seemed to knock Martin; he glared at him between his wrists. Jon would take anger if it calmed Martin down and stopped him spiralling off. Or heaven forbid crying, Jon had never been good at dealing with other people's tears, Georgie had called it one of his less favourable traits. 

He just put it down to having run out of tears by the time he was eight and never really finding use for them, when swearing internally and kicking a wall worked just as well. 

It was amazing what you could repress if you really tried. 

“He was telling me about the fact he thinks the Lukas family are up to something nefarious, and I can’t say that the evidence he presented was doing much to convince me of anything else.” This turn of conversation seemed to calm Martin, who at least had stopped trying to push his own wrists into his frontal lobe.

“But what has it got to do with the institute? Other than the funding?” Martin questioned putting his phone down on the tacky red tablecloth and eyeing the bacon sandwich with intent.

“I’m not sure, but I’m determined to get to the bottom of it. “

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


***** 

The smell of the city hit him like a brick. 

Absence, in this case, did not make the heart grow fonder. He had very much hoped that he would never have to inhale that smoggy dirty stench of London town again .

But god, he had missed it.

The journey from Heathrow had been colourful.

The Buried was clear as soon as the Piccadilly line had hit the tunnels, a dark brown, the colour of deep mud. It danced and edged its way around the feet of the passengers in the gently rocking train carriage. 

The Lonely had always been present wherever you moved around London. Not as immediately noticeable as it was in New York or as you traversed the vast distances between states on endless roads with no signs of civilisation bar the occasional house light flickering on the horizon, but noticeable all the same. 

But on this carriage it seemed particularly poignant. It caressed the solo travellers, the business people and the constantly on the move like himself. The paled turquoise hovered at head height unseen to any other passengers but him. 

The Hunt and the desolation mingled as they entered central London, bankers and accountants doused in vermilion reds and burnt siennas pressing in and out of sliding doors in search of the next big deal and playing god’s with other people’s lives.

When he finally alighted at Green park, he was thankful for the walk to the next platform; he was falling asleep standing and had visions of waking up at Cockfosters and having to take the long journey back.

It felt weird to be back on the underground, the subway system in New York didn’t smell the same, didn’t cause you to keep checking back over your shoulder every few moments, sure that there were more than just your own footsteps on the cold concrete floor. 

Had he really missed the tube? He really was getting soppy. 

As he stepped out of the station in Pimlico, the early morning fug had disappeared, but something much worse had replaced it. 

As Gerry scanned the streets of identical white faced buildings, he could see it above the city skyline. 

It was so bright, that Gerry was astounded he hadn’t seen it before his change. 

Nobody could walk around London and not see it surly?

The sea foam green light radiated into the cloudy sky, and without a doubt Gerry knew the Institute sat at its very core. 

He hated how it felt like a homing beacon calling him in.

He hitched his bag on his shoulder and headed down towards the river, trying his hardest to watch where he was walking and ignore the itching feeling of being watched that twitched beneath his skin.

He felt childish flipping the bird to something nobody else could see, but he did it anyway and really hoped it offended Elias. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the kudos and comments so far glad your enjoying it.  
> find me on Tumblr at pezilla and lurking around on twitch as pezzy chaos.


	5. Chapter 5

Elias had appeared in the archives almost as soon as they got back from their impromptu business breakfast. 

Jon and Martin had barely hung their coats up when he arrived.

He had wandered in like an overbearing mother hen, showing more interest in the archives than he had done since the time Tim had brought in a cake for Jon’s birthday. 

He hovered around the open plan office, asking leading questions that Sasha and Tim fielded with both ease and grace, but when he turned his attention on Martin, the man almost fell apart.

Martin’s brain was not ready to deal with the onslaught of twenty questions. It was still churning from the panic attack that he had barely avoided this morning. 

The last thing he needed was the weasel-like grin of Bouchard offhandedly inquiring why Martin had found such an interest in Solus shipping? Was it in relation to a statement? How was his new flat? It had to be more enjoyable than living at work, and just how was his Mother these days?

How Martin hadn’t shoved a pencil up the man’s nose by the end of the interrogation was a mystery.

All throughout the questioning Martin could feel Jon’s eyes on him through the crack in his ajar door. 

Martin wished Elias would just bugger off so he could go back to his usual base line of existential dread.

Elias leaving didn’t come a moment soon enough. 

As soon as Elias pulled the door closed behind him, the collective team gave a sigh of relief.

“Anybody else feel like they have just been well and truly tested?” Sasha groaned, pushing herself away from the desk. 

“At least you know we're pushing the right buttons if his royal highness has come down from his throne room to mix with the peasants.”

Martin waited for Tim to come back with some witty retort, but he was busy looking towards Jon’s open door and then back to Martin as if something was bothering him.

“Spit it out.” Martin sighed, he was ready for the argument about not answering his phone, it was bound to fall out of Tim’s mouth sooner rather than later.

So when Tim lent forward and pursued him over the top of his steepled fingers it confused Martin.

“So, just where were you and Jon boy this morning?” He looked at Sasha for back up, she had wheeled her chair over to Martin’s side as if making sure he couldn’t escape.

“Breakfast, Jon took me for breakfast…”

“Oh, did he now?” Tim wagged an eyebrow.

“Yes, because he wanted to make sure I was ok. It's been a long weekend ok? can we just leave it?” Martin really didn't feel like doing this right now. Not when he was so worked up and at any moment things he didn’t want to say could slip from his lips.

“Hear that Sash? The boss and Marto had a long weekend. Nudge nudge wink wink.” he exaggerated the actions to reinforce his point. 

“Tim leave him alone, what are you ninety-year-old?” Sasha placed her hand on Martin’s wrist. 

“Seriously, though what happened? We were worried, well I was, dunno about dumbass.” Tim faked being in pain at her comments but he didn't look like was going to back down anytime soon from his line of enquiries.

“I just had a bad weekend, Mum stuff” he lied. 

“I just needed a bit of time on my own, to process stuff, do a bit of cooking binge Netflix you know how it is.” he reached under the desk and scooped out a Tupperware box full of oat and raisin cookies from his bag. 

“They better be chocolate chips.” Tim eyed them with disgust but still pulled the tub towards him eagerly. “You're ok though yeah?” The concern really reached all the way to Tim’s eyes, Tim was a lot sometimes but he wasn’t heartless.

Was he ok? To a degree, yes he was. He just felt drained, there had been a lot going on since this time last week. He found himself wishing for the good old days, when he had stacked shelves in Kwiksave and the worst thing he had to worry about was if there was a clean up in the milk aisle.

At least only a severe milk allergy would mean death back then.

He wanted to check his phone to see if Gerry had got back to him, but he didn’t want to do it under the watchful gaze of the others. He should apologise to the man, hear his side of he storey, he shouldn’t make assumptions based on other people's opinions. 

Had he really misread the man so badly? Gerry really didn’t seem like anything they said about him. Yet he had read it and seen it with his own two eyes. 

He wondered if they still had Gerry’s autopsy reports somewhere in the stacks or if Sasha had shredded them like she had promised she would when she got them.

  
  


“Listen, I'm sorry for the disappearing act, I should have text first so you knew I was safe and not… Well worm food.” Sasha and Tim were still watching him, his slowness to reply nothing new, sometimes being known as the bumbling idiot had its uses.

“Wouldn't have made a difference apparently worms have opposable thumbs, remember?” Tim wiggled his thumbs pretending to write a text on an invisible phone 

“Although there were fewer spelling mistakes in the worm queens messages, should really have been a red flag last time to be fair.”

“Piss off Tim.” 

Tim swung back in his chair munching down on a cookie and looking smug.

“He's fine, see he told me to piss off and everything.”

  
  


*****

Jon didn’t like it.

He didn’t like that Elias had made his way down to the archives. and he really disliked the fact that Elias had zoned in on Martin.

Not when they had deliberately been flying under the man’s radar. It was like Bouchard just knew where they were. 

Did he have spies all over the institute? Eyes reporting back to him the comings and goings of his employees at all times? 

That wouldn’t be marginally more normal than the average strangeness the Institute attracted. 

Jon nudged the door closed and picked up a tape recorder throwing himself into a statement. 

Maybe if he kept his mind busy, the rouge thoughts would stop.

Of course he had picked up a statement that Gerry popped up in. That was the joy of the institute, fortunate coincidences. 

He could picture the scene clearer now, this woman walking the streets of Genoa when Gerry would turn up. He had a face to go with the name now, a voice to match up to the words Jon recited to tape.

He had so many questions for Gerry, wherever he may be. The longer he thought about it the more he felt that Gerry had come back to them for a reason. 

It had fascinated Jon, the idea of this vigilante moving through the world, rarely seen, tidying up the mess that the cursed tombs of Leitner wrought wherever they appeared. 

If only Gerry had destroyed a guest for Mr Spider before Jon got his hands on it. 

But that was ridiculous, Gerry would have been only in his early teens himself when Jon came across that book, but that thought didn't stop him imagining what his life would be like if his gran had never bought it.

“Jon?”

Martin was standing before him, a concerned look on his face. He reached down prying the tape recorder from Jon’s clamped hands and placed it on top of the nearest filing cabinet with a disgruntled huff.

“Tough statement?” Martin asked kindly, Martin was always kind wasn't he? Jon really didn’t even deserve to have the man look his way in friendship. 

“No, It was… It was one about our Gerry, didn’t mention him by name of course, but there's not that many six-foot goth’s covered in eye tattoos out there in our line of work.”

Martin walked to the desk to look at the discarded statement where it sat on the desk. 

“Where did this one come from? This wasn’t one that you asked me to pull, and it most definitely wasn't in the stack I handed in.” 

Martin flicked through the attached files eyes scanning over the statement and the associated additional research.

“Jon, Sasha did the follow up on this statement over a year ago, why are you only just recording it now?”

Disbelieving, Jon moved to the desk “That can’t be right, It was in my to record pile… Sasha brought it in this morning…”

“Sasha didn’t bring you anything this morning. We were out to breakfast, remember?”

Martin was right. They hadn’t done the Monday morning brief, Sasha had already been deep in her own paperwork when they came back then Elias had cornered him in his office…

“Elias.” he groaned. 

“I knew he was up to something, is this like a warning or something? Do you think he knows about Gerry?” The look of panic sparked in Martin’s eyes. Was he reaching the same conclusions that Jon was? That if Elias was this determined to cause trouble whatever hunch Gerry had, was built on firm foundations. 

“I don’t know, but I don’t think I like it either way. I think we should keep this from Sasha and Tim. That is, unless you have already said something?” 

Martin scratched at the back of his neck something that Jon knew from current observations meant he was nervous.

“Sasha knows of Gerry… but I haven’t talked about recent developments with her.”

“Tim is also aware of Gerry, but again not in the current context…”

“Why does-”

“He may have come up in a conversation between myself and Tim, It doesn’t matter right now, all that matters is that we don’t drag them in to this any more than we have already.”  _ After all I’m not sure how much longer Tim can keep his mouth shut.  _ Jon thought to himself.

“I don’t know how much I like the Idea of keeping them in the dark.” Jon didn't blame Martin for sounding cautious. In this place at the moment, going into anything without possession of the full facts was tantamount to a death wish.

“It’s just till we have a firmer grip on the situation. The fewer people who know that Gerry is alive the better. If what you said about him being followed is even slightly true, we don't want that turning up on our doorstep” Jon felt his fingers grazing over the worm scabs on the back of his hand, he couldn’t go through that again.

Martin worried at his bottom lip. Jon tried not to stare but his eyes kept being drawn to it.

“First sign of danger we warn them, I don’t want… I don’t want another-”

“I know. I know.” 

It took all of Jon’s restraint not to reach out and comfort him.

  
  


*****

The place had never changed. 

It felt like a lifetime since he had seen the institute last, and in a way, it was. After all, he had died.

Gerry did several sweeps of the front façade from his hiding spot across the street before circling back and making sure, if needed, he could still get through the back entrance.

He wondered if they had changed the code to the back door; The Eye seemed almost pleased with itself as it helpfully supplied him with the new one. 

Gertrude’s date of birth. 

He bet Elias had had fun changing that over, the twisted bastard. 

He wondered if he could still get into the archives by shimmying down the back fire escape and dislodging the old coal shoot by the heating vents, the way he used to if he needed to move about the archives unseen and undetected…

“Oh Fuck off.” he exclaimed as the eye informed him that not only Gertrude, but Elias too, had known about his sneaky back door breaking and entering. 

“That’s not a pleasant thing to say to someone.” 

Gerry knew that voice. He had been expecting it, ever since he had seen the jet black tendrils twisting around the affectionately named hanging tree where it grew in the courtyard behind the Institute.

He didn’t turn around. Right now he was too busy to deal with the systematic regime of the grim reaper, or whatever name he was currently trading under. 

“Are we Oliver this week? Or is it back to Antonio?” Gerry kept his eyes fixed on the Institute, in particular the top floor where he knew Elias and his illusions of grandeur resided.

The pageantry of the eye shaped window still irked him just as much this time as it had the last time he had seen it. Only now he could see the green colours pulsing out into the night like some sort of twisted lighthouse from a hammer horror. 

“Oliver, if you please. It surprised me to feel you arrived in England, I thought you despised the place and swore never to return?” Oliver always delivered his speech with such a formal presentation that it had not surprised him to find out that the man had been a banker before his change .

“Yeah well, that was the plan.” Grunted Gerry's eyes fixed on the front door of the building across the way.

“Yet here you are, creeping ever closer to the eye. I wonder, what do you see when you look at Magnus’s little pet project?”

Gerry looked. A whole rainbow of colours one for each entity twisted and curled in their creeping tentacles across brick and mortar, glass and wood edging its way towards the ever watching green light at the top of the institute. 

“A rainbow of terrible misfortune.” He muttered, finally casting a look at Oliver. 

The man was as textbook handsome as ever. Unnaturally catalogue perfect, with neatly styled hair and a wardrobe that put Gerry’s own to shame, what he didn’t hold in height he made up for in ominous foreboding. 

Oliver was too organised, too regimented, and it drove Gerry mad. 

But when you saw all the roots that lead to the same end, he guessed you must have to be. Or how did you make sense of all the interchanging life paths of humans? Most of the time they were only sheep to the slaughter. 

Oliver stepped closer .

“Always the poet, you have a way with words Gerard.“ 

“Always thought I was more of an artist, but you adapt.” he watched as the turquoise of the forsaken rolled under foot, chased along the path by an unseen force, noticeable only by its absence.

Instinctively Gerry stepped back into the bushes a little further, but Oliver didn’t make any inclination at movement. 

Gerry had long ago realised that to be associated with the end had its perks, to see your own corpse route was to know your own destiny. You knew when you could move without being seen, when the path was clear or if they interweaved the path with interactions. 

It was easy to be invisible if that was what you wanted.

Oliver didn't have to be so cocky about it. 

“Lukas?” Gerry questioned as he played with the lid of his zippo in his pocket. Each click caused Oliver to twitch slightly, Gerry wondered how many the man had smoked in a day when he had been human.

“It’s impressive how much he gets about in that boat of his.” Oliver moved so Gerry could see him clearly without giving up his spot in the shadows.

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it.” Oliver crossed his arms over his chest shifting his gaze to meet Gerry’s “Do you have a plan? Or are you just as hell bent on, act now, think later as your predecessor?”

“I am not here to take up the mantle, Elias already has his new Archivist and I can see the Web all over him, I’m surprised that the Beholding got a look in.”

“Ah, yes Sims. Do you think he knows anything?”

“Do any of us, really?” Gerry watched as the doors to the institute opened and closed on their own volition before pulling out his cigarettes and extracting one. He held it to his lips offering the rest of the packet Oliver. 

The other man shook his head. 

“You’re not going to lecture me on how smoking kills are you Oliver? Because both of us are a little late for that one.” 

Oliver smiled, a hollow thing but genuine. It sat strange upon his picture perfect face as if it had been superimposed over the brooding pout that should be there. 

“What are you really doing here Gerry?” Oliver held his gaze.

“Unfinished business… and I was worried.” Gerry lit the end of his cigarette. “The question I should ask is,  _ why are you here Oliver? _ ”

Oliver blinked first. Gerry hadn’t been sure if the beholding was going to keep up it’s end of the deal. It had been a while since he had to use it on another fear monger.

“Something changed, a life was supposed to reach its end. But the event did not come to pass, and now I fear things have changed course and the future no longer follows the path that was set out before us.”

“So, what are you going to do, push that person under a bus or something?” Gerry blew smoke out before him. 

The End was such a passive entity it didn’t hunt for sport like some others, yet the reason for Oliver happening upon the institute as Gerry arrived was not a coincidence. 

He may respect Oliver but he didn’t have to trust him.

“No, like yourself, I am here to observe, call it morbid curiosity.” Oliver watched as the end of Gerry cigarette burnt brighter as he inhaled. “I only interfere when I am told to, present company is an exceptional circumstance.”

“It’s ok, you can say I was too pretty to die, I won't tell anyone.” Gerry winked at Oliver who rolled his eyes and shook his head once. “You end avatars are all so damn serious all the time, try and lighten up yeah?”

He blew out a smoke ring and offered his packet of cigarettes up to Oliver again, this time the man reached out and took one. 

Gerry said nothing but held out his zippo to light the end as Oliver took it to his lips.

“Don’t push it.” Oliver warned.

Gerry winced. The pull of the Beholding had just wrenched sharply behind his eyes and the resulting whiplash made him feel sick. 

“Gerry? You ok?” Oliver asked somewhere in the night, but Gerry couldn’t see him, all he could see was the smiling face of Elias Bouchard as he looked out at his own reflection in the penthouse window smiling from within a sea of fog.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the comments so far 
> 
> hope this chapter didn't disappoint.


	6. Chapter 6

“I still don’t like it.” Martin muttered as he waved to Sasha as she disappeared through the double doors that lead up to the main entrance of the institute. 

Tim had left over an hour ago and to be fair, Martin had been almost ready to follow him out of the door as soon as the clock struck five. But Jon had been so concerned when they hadn’t received a call from Gerry at half four that Martin was really getting worried by the other man’s absence himself. 

If he got hurt, Martin wasn’t sure he was going to forgive himself.

He had read and reread the last text from Gerry that had come through on WhatsApp a million times no matter how many times he looked at the letters and numbers he couldn't work out what znyaal9821egll meant. 

He had googled it and all it brought up was some Hindi website that Google translation

couldn’t even tackle, a fan page for Aerosmith, a dodgy link to some sort of pornography and a link to some cam girls. He hoped the last two wouldn’t show up in his search history when the I. T department serviced his computers next. 

Jon had come out of his office when Sasha had stuck her head in to say goodnight.

He now stood at the end of the main desk, looking every bit as concerned as Martin felt.

“I know you don’t like it, but the more we keep Elias’s gaze off them, the better.” 

Jon pottered around in the main office until the automatic motion light plunged the stairwell up to the entrance hall into darkness.

He appeared at Martin’s side in absolute silence. Holding a set of old looking keys in one hand and a finger raised to his lips indicating that Martin should be quiet with the other. He pointed towards the rack where the coats lay, and Martin noticed Jon had his satchel over one shoulder already. 

What was Jon up to? 

Marin powered down his laptop and slid it into his own bag, but Jon reached out, stopping Martin before he powered down his desktop. Pointing over his shoulder with his thumb, Martin could see that Jon had also left his desktop up and running and logged in. 

Martin was acutely aware this was the second time today that Jon had reached out and casually touched him like this. The ghost of the other man’s hand had lingered all day on the back of his own. If he hadn’t been wound up tight like a cork about to explode, he would have spent the entire day dissecting that, but right now he didn't have time to pick it apart.

When they had both retrieved their coats from the rack, Jon led them towards document storage. 

The basement was one of the forgotten parts of the institute. Apart from the upgrades to rooms like document storage. That had climate control and air conditioning to protect some of the oldest records the archived held. Once you walked past the metal and plastic, you got to the old part of the building. 

Tim hated it back here, said it reminded him of something he would rather forget, old slate and sandstone untreated and uneven lined the floors, Martin often wondered if anything had been done to it since 1818. 

This was where the awful draft that blew through the archives came from. 

They had pinned a large grey blanket up, covering an old wooden door trying desperately to stop the cold air creeping further into the building. 

Jon pulled the blanket to one side and slid the key into the lock, punching a number into a tiny silver keypad that looked very much like they had installed it in the late eighties. 

The door swung inwards and Martin recognised the tiny courtyard that jutted off from the side of the institute. You normally couldn’t see it for the bins. Jon nodded for him to go out first, pulling the door close behind him and putting the code back in to the door, turning the key again with a soft clunk.

Martin went to speak but Jon held his finger up to his lips again, pointing up. You could just make out the lights of the top floor offices reflected in the glass pains of the building across the way. Jon was trying to get out without alerting Elias.

Martin followed Jon’s lead, aware of the fact that he took up a considerably larger amount of room than Jon did. 

Jon paused holding up a hand for Martin to do the same, he stuck his head around the corner checking the front of the institute before reaching out, grabbing Martin by the wrist and dragging him across the road to the little park that stood between the institute and the river. Doused in darkness it would make it easier to manoeuvre than the street .

As they disappeared through the park gates Martin chanced a look back at the institute. The lights in the basement were still on, the narrow basement windows visible just beyond the wrought-iron gates.

“Won't they timeout?” Martin whispered when he realised Jon had followed his gaze with his own.

“I… no… I may have…” Jon began.

“What did you do?” Martin said shifting further into the darkness, aware that Jon still held his wrist. 

“I fiddled with the electrics. It was getting annoying, the lights going out on me all the time when I was working.” Jon muttered, tightening his grip on Martin’s wrist again as if bracing for a lecture. The heat of his palm was warm against the frosty night of London, and it was suddenly the most solid thing Martin had felt all day. 

Jon tugged him further into the tenebrosity of the park. Soon the Institute disappeared behind some bushes and only the lights of the walkway down by the river gave them illumination to see the way. 

“I don’t know what’s more impressive, that you know how to do wiring, or that you sat still long enough for the motion sensor to go off.” Martin was very aware that Jon still hadn’t dropped his grip on him, the whole thing was surreal. 

“I grew up in a single-parent household, and that single parent was my grandmother. I have been able to rewire a plug since I was seven years old, I can also plumb a washing machine and hang a shelf, all things that have been pretty much useless since I moved to London.” Jon paused, had he heard the same sound up ahead that Martin had? If he had, he must have decided that it wasn’t something to worry about. 

“Actually, I tell a lie, I hung a cat superhighway for the Admiral once, that reminds me Georgie never paid me back for that Ikea trip...”

Martin looked down at Jon, his eyes were darting everywhere as he muttered under his breath. Apparently this little info dump was making him calm. It was having the opposite effect on Martin; it was making him want to scream.

“Jon?” 

Jon stopped. He seemed caught mid word, suddenly realising that he had Martin in his grip. He dropped his hand from Martin's wrist. 

“Sorry…”

“Jon… it’s fine, but I have to ask, why did we just ‘mission impossible’ it out of work?” Martin could just pick out Jon’s features in the dim light. It cast his long features in sharp relief, but he could still make out the look of exasperation on the man’s face.

“Because I didn’t want Elias to see us.” 

Martin was aware of the flame in the shadows near the exit a moment before Jon was,

turning to the sound of a lighter clicking shut.

“I wish it was that easy. I was hoping I would not have to go right back to basics, but you two know nothing do you?” 

Martin could just make out the lines of a tall thin person who had a cigarette in their mouth and were walking towards them. 

They passed in front of the glow cast by the streetlight on the other side of the park wall and Martin caught sight of the long black hair.

They flicked the flame to relight the end of the cigarette and they illuminated their face for a split second, but it was long enough for Martin.

“Gerry?” He asked, stepping in front of Jon. He didn’t know why, it was unlikely Gerry would have made his presence known if he intended to cause the two of them harm.

“You’re ok then?” Gerry asked softly, holding back his distance. 

“I… I’m fine, what are you?… why are you?”

“Taking matters into my own hands.” Gerry spoke soft and steady but there was something akin to relief behind the words. Behind him Martin could feel Jon moving towards him again, his hand had found its way back to Martin’s wrist. Was it comfort or restraint? Martin wasn’t sure but he longed to turn his hand and gasp Jon back just as tightly.

  
  
  


******

Gerry had just been about to take his chances with the side entrance when he saw them. 

They were doing an awful job of hiding, if that was what they were attempting. 

The two of them stuck out like sore thumbs, barely concealed behind a green industrial sized wheelie bin. It did nothing to hide Martin, who’s height had him at least a full head above the top of the lid or Jon, who was sticking his head out into the street like some deranged whack a mole. 

He didn’t know if he should be annoyed, amused or relieved at the sight.

At least Martin was safe. Jon’s worry over the man had been infectious, he obviously cared a great deal about him. Not that Gerry could blame him.

As they darted across the road, they headed straight towards him. He sunk into the shadows, not sure how he intended on approaching them. After all, he was a stranger. They would question how much of him they really knew. He had seen the look on both men’s faces as the penny had dropped and the realisation of his identity had sunk in.

He wasn’t sure what would wait for him when he revealed his presence to Martin; he hoped the reaction would be good, but he didn’t have that kind of luck.

As he watched them crossing the road, he noticed that the two of them were holding hands.

It churned something up inside him, making him force another step back, the gravel of the flower beds crunching under his heels. He froze in place scared that they would find him

out before he could think of what to say or do.

He watched as Jon led them into the shadows of the bushes, Martin’s eyes fixed on him. Gerry quietly followed along, taking care not to crunch the fallen leaves underfoot. 

In the dull illumination he could make out Martin’s face, Jon was still doused in shade, Gerry hadn’t quite realised just how tall Martin was. Or was it just because Jon was short? 

Why did this matter? Why did he care?

That churning in his stomach was back again, he couldn't shake it. 

  
  


“Jon I have to ask… why did we just Mission impossible it out of the archives?” Martin had paused close to where he watched them from the trees. Gerry felt sick.

Something made him shove his hands deeper in his pockets, his fingers grasped tightly on his lighter, his other hand pulled out a cigarette and lifted it to his lips. 

The flame lit up the night; it called to the beholding where it whipped around the park looking for answers. 

But as Gerry traced the veins of colour, they didn’t lead back to the institute, they all led back to Jon. 

“Because I didn’t want Elias to see us.” 

“I wish it was that easy. I was hoping I would not have to go right back to basics, but you two know nothing do you?” he whispered, softly, trying to make himself as little a threat as possible, watching as Martin placed himself between him and Jon. 

Martin blustered, confused as he worked out what was going on. He seemed fine, but it wasn’t as if Gerry really knew the man. 

He seemed to be saying something? Gerry wasn’t listening; he was watching Jon as he reached out grabbing Martin by the wrist again, the curls of the Beholding winding their way around Martin’s forearm slowly creeping up his chest…

“Listen, can we do this somewhere that isn’t here? I’ve come a long way and I could murder a fry up.” Gerry tried to pull his eyes away from where the veins of green had settled over Martin’s heart. 

It had been one thing to see it through a screen but to see it in person was something totally different. The creeping dread was heavy in the air and Gerry had to face facts, the current Archive team did not know what they were up against.

Gerry needed to protect them. 

“Jon?” Martin looked back over his shoulder to where Jon had taken grip. “Your call?”

Jon nodded once, stepping out from Martin’s side. Gerry was aware of the way Jon’s eyes fell from Martin’s face to watch him. They were fixed now on his lit cigarette; he offered out the packet. The shorter man seemed to think through his options before moving towards him and the nicotine filled peace offering. Jon took one dropping his hand from Martin to reach into his own pocket for his own lighter.

“Those things are going to kill you.” Martin shook his head, as Jon lit up looking at him disapprovingly.

“They can get in line.” Jon muttered, taking his first draw and blowing the smoke into the air. “Did you have somewhere in mind?” Jon asked gesturing towards the gate for Gerry to lead the way.

“I don’t care as long as I can get a decent cuppa.” 

  
  
  


The café looked like it was straight out of an episode of a BBC sitcom, but Gerry didn’t care. 

He could smell the layer of grease on the kitchen counters, hear the low buzz of the electric strip lights and the badly tuned radio proclaiming capital radio was the number one radio station in the UK, straight from the heart of London.

Most importantly, he couldn’t see any of the fears deep rooted in the place. It was just a greasy spoon, he could almost taste the H. P Sauce. 

They had walked in silence most of the way. Martin making sure to keep himself a human barrier between Jon and Gerry. 

Gerry had guessed from their conversations that Martin was a caretaker. But to see him in action was something new and exciting. How had the institute not twisted him into some hollow version of himself, that was what the place specialised in? 

Gerry could get a good look at the both now. 

Close up Martin wasn’t as tall as Gerry had placed him, he stood about an inch taller than himself, his hair added to the illusion of height. His curly auburn strands had volume, it added a good inch onto his looming frame. 

Unfortunately for Gerry, Martin was even more handsome in person. 

That ‘bit of a crush’ he had been cultivating was coming back to haunt him now, he wished it would leave him be. 

Every time Gerry glanced his way Martin seemed to have some sort of internal struggle, torn between wanting to keep a dead man away from his beloved archivist and wanting to know more. 

Gerry could almost see the questions forming in his mind.

That glint in his eye was present. It happened whenever he spoke to Jon in his quiet aside, not quite a whisper but not loud enough for Gerry to be fooled into thinking they directed it at him. 

Jon walked half a step behind them, his eyes constantly flicking from Martin to Gerry and back again. 

The man was completely different in person, Gerry was wondering if Jon knew more of what hung over his head than what Gerry’s first impression had given him credit for.

He was handsome, in that classic movie star kind of way, the tiny scars forming all over his face did nothing to distract from that, his dark eyes were scanning for information, every so often landing on Gerry with a look of worry and then on Martin, with a look of something else.

The café he led them to sat tucked up a side lane about a mile away from the Institute. It had been somewhere that he had waited for Gertrude in the past, the man behind the counter gave him a nod of recognition as he entered and headed to the booth in the back corner.

“This place makes a mean all day breakfast. I’ve been craving one ever since I got back.” he said as he threw his bag in one side of the booth. Jon and Martin were looking at each other hovering on the other side. They seemed to be waiting for something but he wasn’t sure what.

“What? as is back? Or back, back?” Jon asked.

  
  


“As in back in good old England, although I couldn’t find a decent brew anywhere in the states. What is it with yanks and fancy tea? Good old Yorkshire tea you can’t beat it.” He rubbed his hands together. “Right gents I will be back in a moment, do you want me to get yours or?”

“No,” Martin said a little too quickly. “I mean, it's fine. I owe Jon for breakfast, anyway.” 

It was strange, now that they were in the bright lights of the café and around other people Martin seemed to shrink into himself, even more so when Jon looked up at him and gave him that timid smile. 

What was it with these two, they had been fine touching in the park's darkness? But now they were looking at each other like the other was made from glass, lined with plastic explosives and it was only a matter of time before they cracked, or exploded. 

The two of them stood frozen for a moment before Jon visibly sagged and slid onto the long brown plastic bench, Martin followed close behind. 

Gerry didn’t have time to unpack whatever was going on. He needed a cuppa.

Gerry chased the last of the beans around his plate with the crust of his toast. 

It had lived up to his memory, Sid behind the counter had even slapped an extra sausage on his plate as a welcome home, his dark eyes shining as he clasped Gerry by the hand and shook hard. 

The bright overhead lights and the faded mirror hadn’t changed, still glaring reminders of the nineties with their shutter features and bikini-clad ladies reclining across your own reflection. It was a perfect time capsule. 

Across the table Jon fiddled with his fork, his plate of sausage roll and chips abandoned on the table before him. Martin was eyeing the remnants of the man’s food with a put upon expression, his own sausage and chips long gone. 

Gerry was trying to get a read of the two of them, but other than the tendrils of fears that they wore like ill-fitting coats, he just couldn’t dissect it. At least not yet. 

“So…” he began as he placed his fork down on the plate and picked up his tea. 

Two sets of eyes snapped to him waiting.

“I take it, by the fact you snuck out of the pauper's entrance, something happened?” 

Jon was the one to speak his voice low and steady. “Elias conveniently left a file about you on my desk this morning, all while asking leading questions about our current caseload. I think It’s fair to say we have triggered his interest.” 

This was the first real thing that had tumbled from the smaller man's lips, at the sound of his voice Gerry practically felt each joint creek as his tattoos blinked to attention. It felt like they moved to look at the new Archivist, but that would be insane. A lot of weird things had happened to him since he came back but at least his tattoos had stayed put, mostly. 

“That wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest.” Gerry sipped his tea.

“I hate that man.” Martin muttered and Jon gave an agreeing nod. “Gerry, why are you here?” he didn’t sound scared or worried, he just sounded tired.

“Someone went missing, and it worried me,” he shot a loaded glance at Martin, who dipped his head to hide the blush. “When you didn’t answer your phone and Jon couldn’t find you at your flat, I was concerned something had happened. I was coming home anyway, you just forced my hand.”

As Gerry watched the two men across the table, he noticed Jon was suddenly inspecting the back of his fork so hard that the Beholding had almost engulfed it. Martin was staring at the side of his head slightly dumbfounded.

“You didn’t come to-”

“We hadn’t updated your files.-”

“No, I… not after… so you?” 

These two needed to learn how to communicate. Get a dialogue going, this was painful. 

But surely Jon knew where his boyfriend lived? Maybe it was a recent development? They seemed awkward enough around each other for that to be the case. Gerry was trying not to think about it, or that if they were a couple, how come Martin had said nothing when they had been sitting talking to three am. 

He had been flirting? Hadn’t he? Gerry knew he was out of practice but-

“I went to your old apartment, one hundred percent worm free, and I was to tell you that your pot plants are thriving, sorry forgot about that, what with everything.” the Archivist looked up at Martin now waving his hand around animatedly.

“Oh,” Martin looked touched. “You-”

“So your disappearance had nothing to do with Elias then?” Gerry pushed, he didn’t want to interrupt, but there was a sharp pain in his chest and he had a feeling it had nothing to do with jet lag or supernatural encounters. He had a horrible feeling it had something to do with the way Martin was looking at Jon.

Had he really developed feelings for Martin over a handful of video calls and a few rambling phone conversations? It would explain the twinge of jealousy every time Jon moved into Martin’s personal space, that swooping feeling like missing a step on the way down the stairs he had felt when he had first spotted Martin had been a new one on him.

He didn’t know what to do with it.

“No, Elias didn’t start hovering around until this morning when we turned up late for work.” Martin indicated the two of them. Shit, so they were a couple. Gerry should have known better than to trust something happy in his life, this was like that holiday he took after his mother died, that had been happy too until the Lonely destroyed it.

Gerry exhaled trying to calm the chattering nerves, business, this was business not pleasure. It was work. Even if Martin had said it didn’t have to be. He would have to settle for work friends he supposed.

“While I was waiting-”

“Stalking.” interjected Jon.

“Waiting for you outside the institute, Peter Lukas appeared, so I think that solidifies Bouchard’s involvement with my investigations.” 

“Peter… Is he… you know ‘spooky ghost ship’ man?” Martin even did the air quotes. Gerry told himself it wasn’t adorable. Even if it was. 

“Captain of the Tundra? Yes.” Jon answered, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. 

“What did he want in the institute?” Martin held Gerry in his gaze. 

“Nothing good.” 

Jon shifted, hands fidgeting with whatever they could get, currently Martins ripped off order number for the food.

“How are you not dead?” Jon asked, eventually breaking the silence.

Jerry looked down at his fingers fidgeting with his rings and trying to think the best way to answer the other man’s questions.

“How much do you know?”

“About what? The institute? The supernatural?” Jon asked earnestly.

“The contents of the coroner's report?” Martin added as he pulled his bag up from the floor beside him rifling through til he found what he wanted. He shoved the wedge of papers over towards Gerry. 

Gerry recognised the hospital seal as soon as he saw it. They had printed it on the inside of the body bag when he woke up in the morgue. 

He flipped the first page, sure enough there was a photo of him clearly dead. 

It must have been taken before Gertrude went hack on his body, he still had his eye tattoo across his heart in this image. 

He rubbed absentmindedly at his chest; he had liked that artwork; he missed it.

But it made sense that Gertrude took skin from the least tattooed part of his body. 

They could have at least brushed his hair before they took the photo.

He turned the page reading the list of ailments and imperfections in his body. It was not doing great things for his self-esteem, malnourished and gaunt were just a few of the words that jumped out at him from the official document

  
A close up of the mass that they had cut away from his brain, he could have done without seeing after stuffing himself on a fry up. But he had seen worse. He had done worse.

His hand moved now to the shaved side of his head, it had never grown in right.

“Where did you get this?” he asked. 

“Pulled it up when you cropped up a second time in statements. You get about.” Martin was still looking at him as if he didn’t trust him. 

Gerry didn’t blame him if he was being honest, it was a lot to take in. He still didn’t fully understand it himself. 

“I suppose saying, ‘I was dead, then I wasn’t’, won’t cut it will it ?” Gerry ventured.

“No, not really?” Martin agreed.

“It’s complicated, and it’s best not discussed in public.” he muttered eyes darting around the café, nobody looked like a threat but Elias had eyes everywhere.

Martin glanced at Jon who just shrugged. 

Turning his attention back to Gerry, Martin paused before he spoke.

“My place isn’t far from here, It’s about as secure as you are going to get, I don’t think I’ve seen a neighbour since I moved in.”

It wasn't an ideal situation, but it would do. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Martin’s flat was surprisingly close. Jon had expected them to have to walk at least another half hour before they reached something that was obtainable in their pay grade. But less than five minutes later they turned into a courtyard set back from the main street and gated with metal railings, it even had a fountain in the middle of the space. 

One solitary swan spouting water from its mouth into a drab grey capture pool surrounded by desolate and half dead plants.

Jon wondered how many of Martin’s poems this sorry-looking thing had woven its way into. It was prime for it.

Martin punched the code into the gate code while Jon and Gerry waited. 

Jon was aware that this was the first time all night Martin hadn’t placed himself between them like a natural barrier. It didn’t take long for Martin to slide back into that space. Nudging Jon to go through the gate first so he could wedge himself between Jon and their new associate as soon as physically possible. 

They repeated the same routine as they got to the large glass doors that lead to the foyer.

Jon itched to reach out and grab onto Martin again. Part of it in comfort, part of it to stake some sort of claim on the man. 

It was ridiculous; he knew he had more important things to be concerned about. But the only thought he could focus on was the fact that Gerry was here, and he was competing for Martin’s affection.

Martin looked nervous. It took Jon back to the early days of the archive when Martin would spook at the tiniest thing, avoid him if he could help it and throw tea at him like a shield.

He wanted to reach out and reassure him, recompense for all the awful things he had done in the past.

He had felt the irregular beat of the other man's heart, as his fingers had pressed against the thin skin of his wrist. 

Jon told himself it had only raced because of the adrenaline from sneaking out and then bumping into Gerry. 

But he hoped it was down to more than that, especially as Martin hadn’t shoved his hand off as soon as Jon touched him.

Hope could be a dangerous thing.

They moved towards the elevator. Pale eggshell painted walls echoing back their steps, the electric buzz of the lamps that lined the walls fuzzed in his mind and sent him back to his childhood. 

Rows of identical desks and that muggy heat that radiated from the storage heaters below rain drenched windows. 

Inside lunch breaks with nothing but his books, classmates gathered without him, playing games in clusters under a hazy bleached out glow.

He shook his head to dislodge the image; it had been a long time since he had thought about St Andrews. It had been a long time since he had thought of much of his childhood as lonely as it was; he wondered what had made him start now?

Martin took the lead, but never further than a step ahead of Jon. It was as if he was sure that if he got more than a few steps forward of him, Jon was going to disappear. 

As they waited for the lift Jon crowded in closer to Martin, even if he kept casting weary glances at Gerry.

Gerry was nothing and everything that Jon had expected. 

He was imposing, Jon had known that anyway from the descriptions scattered through the archives. Yet he didn’t meet the idea that Jon had formed of him in his mind. 

In his mind Gerry was harsh, violent and angry. He was looking for vengeance, to rebalance the world, hunt down and destroy the things that went bump in the night. The things that lay just outside the line of sight lurking. 

He had read about the man, the ‘angry goth’ who would punch first ask questions later. 

The man that stood to his side only met half of that impression. 

He had kind eyes. 

It seemed like such a stupid thing to think about someone but it was true. 

Gerry’s eyes held that same energy that Martin’s did. He wanted to help; he cared. 

No wonder Martin had reacted to Gerry’s true identity in the way he did. 

Gerry was nothing like his persona. You would not think he was the man that had stood by and watched a man almost burn to death then slit his neck, been a suspect in his own mother’s death and an accomplice in some more grizzly statements.

Jon had read all the statements about Gerard and Mary Keay more times than he needed to. Gerry didn’t mess about. He seemed to have a clear path and rhyme and reason to his destruction. 

Direction that Jon was very much lacking.

He tried not to linger on the smitten face that Martin had shown, when speaking of Gerry before he knew his true identity. 

But it was gnawing away at him. 

If Martin found Gerry attractive, Jon wouldn’t blame him. Though if Martin had a thing for tall goth’s covered in ink, where did that leave him? Short bookish and very much not attractive?

Jon mentally shook himself, was this really the time to be thinking about that sort of thing?

Gerry caught his eye, there was definitely something deep in that gaze that Jon longed to understand. 

Even though Jon knew Gerry had a shady history, he didn’t feel threatened by this man. At least not physically. 

How his mind dealt with the whole Martin situation may actually kill him.

The lift sounded, and they all piled in, the tiny box mirrored on all sides reflected the oddness that stared back at them. 

Was it Jon’s imagination or was this elevator smaller than average? Martin seemed to press in close to his side, and it was down to the lack of room this time rather than anything else. 

Gerry was watching them in the reflection, his eyes kept darting towards Jon’s hip where Martin’s bag kept bumping. 

He had been watching them closely all night, Martin more so than himself, and Jon was not sure how much of it was down to curiosity. 

Were they as much of an interest to Gerry as he was to them?

Not for the first time, Jon wondered what it must look like to someone who was aware of the institute, to see two of its employees pockmarked and scared in identical ways. 

Ok, so Jon had taken the brunt of the load when they had pressed forth into the wall of worms, but Martin hadn’t gone unscathed. He still carried his own war wounds up near his ear, some on his chin and the one just to the left of his lip that was only visible when he smiled in just the right way. 

One of them alone could probably pass it off as an acute case of acne, but if you saw them together, then added in Sasha and Tim, well then it was obviously something slightly on the strange side.

He could feel Gerry’s eyes on him as they travelled up the floors, Martin constantly moving from foot to foot at his side. 

What did Gerry make of the swiss cheese look? 

If Gerry had been there would he have known what to do? Or would he just look as scared as they did?

Gerry had yet to take his fingerless gloves off or remove his scarf from round his neck.

Jon was more than aware that Gerry had his own fair share of scars, but he had been careful to keep them covered.

As the lift shuddered to a halt Jon realised he had been staring at Gerry in the reflection of the lift door, he was almost thankful when the doors slid open and a corridor _almost_ identical to the one they entered came into view. 

It was easy to work out what door led to Martin’s flat. It was the only one with a fake plant stuck outside it.

The sight of it calmed some creeping panic in Jon’s chest. It was such a Martin thing it almost felt normal.

“How can you afford to live this close to work?” Jon asked quietly as Martin fished out his keys. Jon couldn’t even afford to live inside zone three let alone spitting distance from zone one.

“Rent was dirt cheap, the place was caught up in some big P. A scandal a few years back. Tim found it for me after everything…” he trailed off “I couldn’t live on his pull out bed forever could I? And Sasha’s flat mate really didn’t like me crashing on the sofa…”

Jon kicked himself; he never thought about it. After the attack so much had been going on, of course Martin couldn't keep sleeping in the archives. 

He should have at least offered him his sofa for a few nights, or helped him find somewhere else to stay. 

“I should have-”

“You were busy, you had stuff to be getting on with, it’s sorted now don’t worry about it.” 

Martin pushed the door open, reaching in he flipped the light switch. 

It illuminated a little hall. Martin ferried them into the small space prompting Gerry to close the door behind him.

“It’s not massive, but it’s big enough for little old me.” Martin said, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on a vacant peg. 

He toed off his trainers and kicked them to the side before disappearing through the secondary door and into the flat proper. 

Jon took his time taking off his coat and taking off his shoes. 

He told himself he was giving Martin a chance to tidy away anything he might not have wanted them to see, but in reality it was nerves. 

His gran had always said that the home was an extension of oneself. Allowing someone into your own personal space was allowing them to see the real you. Jon was about to see a side of Martin that he had never witnessed before, and that thrilled and scared him in equal measures.

He hadn’t expected a third wheel if he ever crossed the threshold with Martin. He tried to squash that feeling down and bury it till it couldn’t show its face again. Jon could do that at least. He had no right to stake any sort of claim on Martin. 

“You two want a cuppa?” Martin shouted through to them. 

Jon realised he had frozen, he had been watching Gerry again; the man had sat himself down to take off his boots, his coat already hanging on the peg neatly next to Martin’s. 

It surprised Jon, when instead of undoing all the buckles and laces Gerry just reached down and pulled on a barely visible zipper, sliding the heavy boots off and placing them in line next to Jon’s shoes by the door. 

“Say nothing about the socks,” Gerry warned, making Jon glance down to the other man’s feet. They were clad with black-and-white striped fluffy socks.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” to be fair if this had been any other day he would have probably been wearing the socks Georgie had gotten him with pictures of the Admiral all over them.

“It was snowing when I left New York…” he looked at his phone “What? Fifty hours ago give or take change? My feet were cold.” when he got to his feet Gerry was considerably shorter, the boots had made him gain at least a few inches. “Now best not keep Martin waiting, plus I need more caffeine or I'm going to fall asleep standing.”

“Have you actually slept since I spoke to you last?”

“Got a few hours on the flight, don’t sleep. Well, rarely, the nightmares make sure it’s never restful even if I do.” Jon took another look at him, the smudged eyeliner and his fringe flopping down across his face hid the dark bags under his eyes. But now he looked, he could see how tired the other man was. 

“What are you two up to?” Martin asked, sticking his head back into the hallway.

“Got any biscuits to go with that tea?” Gerry asked brightly as he made his way past Jon and into Martin’s flat proper. 

“Two steps ahead of you, coffee table, yours is in the red mug.” Martin stepped to one side as Gerry nipped past him, before stepping into the hallway and pulling the door slightly shut.

“What do you recon?” Martin stepped into Jon’s space speaking low so his voice wouldn’t carry. 

“Well, if he was going to kill us, he would have already done it I should imagine.” 

“He seems nice?”

“Most serial killers do.” 

“I’d be curious to see what Tim’s kill count is, in that case.” Martin nudged him towards the living room. “Always wondered what happened to Jill in accounting, maybe he buried her under the floorboards.”

Jon felt a warmth growing in his chest, this might be one of the weirdest days he had ever had but it was at least going to be memorable. 

As he stepped into Martin’s front room with the man in question at his back, he wondered what it would be like to have this every night. 

To come home to Martin. Coats hung at the door, shoes in a row, tea and biscuits and comfortable silences as they curled up on the sofa. 

It would be wonderful. 

But it wasn’t something that would ever be his. 

He should just add it to the daydreams that he didn’t deserve. 

Gerry was sitting on the chair under the standard lamp. Jon had the same one in his flat. under a tenner from Ikea, he wondered how many homes in just this tower block had exactly the same bland white and black lamp? Sure enough, when he looked at Martin's sofa it was exactly the same as his own. Why did landlords think everyone wanted to live on page forty-six of the Ikea catalogue? He wouldn’t be surprised if Martin had the same bed frame and wardrobes as well. 

Gerry had made himself at home, sipping from his Nescafe mug and picking at a Hobnob. He was paying no mind to the two of them when they walked in. 

Jon waited for Martin to sit before he slid onto the sofa beside him. 

The large yellow throw dislodged from the back and gathered around them as Martin passed Jon a Cadburys cream egg mug and the plate of biscuits. 

Jon took this time to have a quick look about the place that Martin called home. 

Shelves lined the cream walls, piled with various books upon them, with no rhyme or reason to their placement that Jon could see. But each book looked well loved, read again and again. 

Jon couldn’t understand people hoarding books they didn’t read, and he himself had never really read the same book twice if he could help it. Martin had all these books that all looked like they had been read many times proved to him it wasn’t just for show. That shouldn't make the ache in his chest stronger? Should it?

The small T. v sat on a stand to the side of the chair that Gerry currently sat in, before it sat a tiny pot plant and what looked like a collection of stones. 

To the side of the sofa sat an end table, on it stood a photo of Martin, Sasha and Tim looking pleasantly drunk. Jon wondered when it was taken, and where he had been at the time?

Had that been another night where instead of being out and socialising with his friends he had locked himself away in his office? Probably.

“Sasha’s birthday, if you were wondering.” Martin passed him the picture and Jon tried not to curse himself for being caught staring. 

“Oh, I…”

“We went bowling, you dropped out, made the teams odd. Ended up dragging Hannah, though she was too pregnant to be much use to Tim in the end. You should have come.”

“Yeah, you're right I should have.” There had been no valid reason he hadn’t, he had just been too stubborn and pig-headed to just relax for once in his life. 

Jon said nothing to that, just handed the smiling faces of his friends back to Martin to put back in their spot at the end of the sofa. 

  
  


*****

The forsaken claimed Martin’s flat. 

Gerry had seen its roots as they ventured into the courtyard twisting and curling across every single thing they touched. 

This entire building had the Lukas name all over it, no wonder Martin called it home. 

It must have seeped into his bloodstream, called to him even when he hadn’t been aware of its presence. 

It was worrying how easy it was to slip into the grasps of an entity without even releasing the claws of the trap were tightening around you.

The lonely swan had been an interesting touch. 

The building had been designed to seem isolating; the proportions were all wrong. 

Had this been the last attempt at the Lonely ritual that Gertrude had sent crashing down around the ears of Peter Lukas? 

It wouldn’t have surprised Gerry in the slightest. The Lukas family had properties all along the riverside. The vast fortune that the family had amassed, stretched from factories to stately homes and everything in between. 

Still, at least if Martin was living in a Lonely stronghold, it meant they would be safe from other entities banging down the door.

Fear avatars really liked to knock. 

But weren't great fans of doing it on the doors of their equals.

  
  


Gerry was watching Jon and Martin where they drank their tea on the sofa.  The forsaken dampened everything here, the colours had muted, drained from the part of Gerry’s brain that associated colours with the fears.  All he saw now from within the hold of the Forsaken was a dull and washed out. 

For the first time in a long time everything he saw was just that, what _he_ saw, not twisted by any external forces. 

He sipped his tea, impressed that Martin had somehow gotten it exactly right first shot, one sugar, white, like you had scared the cow, the tiniest splash of milk mixed in. 

The tiredness was pulling at him. Was that the safety of the forsaken around him? 

The Eye always struggled in the One Alone, maybe he had been deeper in the grip of the Beholding than he first thought? Now that he was sucked inside the bubble of Lonely, The tether to the Eye and the other powers was cut-off enough that he could think.

“How much do you know about the fears?” Gerry cut over whatever it was the other two were talking about. 

Both men's heads snapped to look at him, their conversation abandoned. 

“What? Like arachnophobia and hemophobia?” Martin asked, placing his mug down on the coffee table. “I know there’s a long list of them... Tim has a notebook full of them, he likes the fact that most of them rhyme.” 

So Gerry’s initial assumption had been right; they knew nothing. 

The hold that the Beholding and Forsaken had on them was not of their own choosing. They hadn’t picked this. 

Jon still didn’t speak; he was fidgeting, spinning the ring on his finger round and round. 

“How long have you been working in the archives?” Gerry ventured. 

“A year, year and a bit, give or take.” Martin cast a sideways glance at Jon “There was an incident recently.”

“An incident?”

Jon gestured to the pockmarks on his face “We had a bit of an infestation.”

“The Corruption.” Of course it had been the Corruption, he had been wondering about Jon’s scars ever since he saw them on the video call, they seemed relatively fresh. 

“The what?” 

How was he going to explain? 

He couldn’t explain how he wasn’t dead if he couldn’t explain the fears. 

How much would they believe? If they had been on the receiving end of the Corruption and the crawling rot, it may have been the first time either man had crossed paths with a fear first hand. 

Gerry lent forward resting his elbows on his knees. 

“You must have noticed that the job isn’t your average archiving job?” Jon nodded but Martin shook his head. “Weird stuff happens all the time right? Stuff that no matter how much you Occam's razor it, no answer seems like it should logically make sense?”

“Increasingly more with each passing day.” Jon grunted. 

“What if I told you that the things that go bump in the night might be more fact than fiction?”

“Next you will be telling us that the monster under the bed is real ?” Jon sounded even more sceptical than normal, it oozed from every word.

“Oh trust me, the monster under the bed is real and the shadow on the stairs is one hundred percent out to get you, the only difference between me and your average Joe is the fact I’m not stupid enough to think it’s all in my head.”

“What has this got to do with the institute? With us?”

“Everything.” 

  
  


*****

Martin wished he had something stronger than tea to drink. 

If what Gerry was saying was the _truth_ … he couldn't fathom the end of that sentence. How could it be the truth? Yet it made sense. 

How completely messed up was his life that the idea of a god that fed on fear seemed to be the most likely answer to a normal office question?

In his mind he started grouping statements together in his mind, he could see the connections forming. The pattern running through the statements, how many statements of war had he read now where the same thing kept happening like an endless loop until the inevitable end came? 

Something nagged at him 

“Is one of the entities something to do with spiders?” 

Jon froze at his side. 

“The Web, or the Mother of puppets.” Gerry nodded. He helped himself to another biscuit. His face calm as he talked of nightmares. “The most insidious of the fourteen, the fear of being made to do something that you don’t want to, the feeling of manipulation and that your will is not your own.”

Jon twitched at that, his hand coming to rest almost atop of his own. 

Martin was aware of the fact that Jon had leaned closer and closer into his space as Gerry had spoken, he could feel the sofa dipping to his left, the heat from the smaller man almost pressing into his side. 

If it wasn’t for the fact they were being told they were living in mortal peril, and that it had been a really, really, long day. Martin was sure that his brain would struggle with concentrating on anything else right about now. 

Jon was shaking. Not that anyone who hadn’t spent the best part of the last two years studying the man would notice. Like most things, Jon’s tells were hard to read when he didn't want you to. 

Without thinking, Martin moved his hand over Jon’s. Echoing the way he had calmed him just this morning in the café. It seemed like an eternity ago now not just twelve hours ago. 

“Can it be _ just  _ spiders?” Martin asked, gently squeezing Jon’s hand as he spoke. 

Martin had a feeling Jon’s fear of spiders ran a lot deeper than he liked to admit. More so now it was linked with the thing that had brought down a wall of worms on them.

“Can be, but the web is sneaky. It’s sometimes not obvious until after that the Web had any say in the matter.” 

Gerry stretched, holding back a yawn.

“So you say that we work for the Eye?” Martin asked “Who do you work for?”

Gerry pulled off his fingerless gloves, flexing his fingers. For the first time, Martin got a good look at the ink that filled each of the joint’s on his knuckles. 

The eyes seemed to blink as he bent his fingers, rolling up his sleeves to show eyes drawn in the folds of his elbows against his wrist, with the other hand he pulled down the collar of his shirt exposing his collar bone. 

The black ink stood proud against the mottled and blister healed scars of the burned skin, it had somehow missed all the points the ink sat in his skin.

“Used to think it was the Eye. Entire family goes back to the Von Closen’s, and they were all Eye aligned, Mum tried to make me take back what she thought was rightfully hers.”

“The books, I remember that statement… did they go on to form the Leitner library by any chance?” Jon was deep in thought now, the tiny wrinkles of concentration forming between his eyebrows.

“Got it in one. Though I reckon your good old institute founder had a lot to do with them making it out into the wild as it were, so did Gertrude. She worked out enough to destroy any that came across her path, I find fire works well. Well, unless it’s a book about the desolation, they enjoy the flames.”

Jon was nodding like he understood what Gerry was on about, but Martin had picked up on something else “You said, _used to think_ it was the Eye? Who do you think it is now?”

“That is even more long and complicated. Mind if I have a smoke first?” Gerry got to his feet pulling a packet of Marlboro red from his pocket and nodded at the tiny balcony. 

“Want one ?” 

  
  
  


*****

Jon was trembling, the things that Gerry said made sense. The books, the statements it all added up.

He watched the smoke curl into the frosty night air, as he squeezed on to the narrow excuse for a balcony, it was barely big enough for Jon let alone him and Gerry. 

“So, when did you have the run in with the Web?” Gerry asked, voice low to stop it travelling back into the flat where Martin was busying himself with what must be the fortieth cup of the day. Jon appreciated it, he couldn’t imagine what Martin’s face would look like if he brought up the tale of Mr Spider. 

“I was eight. It was a Leitner.” Jon stubbed out the cigarette end on the metal railing “How did you know?”

“I can see it on you.” he didn’t explain, and he didn’t push to know more. 

Now he had removed the gloves and finally taken off the scarf, Jon’s eyes kept being drawn to the freshly exposed eyes. 

Had he done it himself? 

If not, what the hell would have been going through his tattooists head as he drew eye after eye on the man’s pale skin?

Gerry even made second-degree burns look good, how was he ever going to compare to him? Why would Martin ever look at him? With a face full of wormy scars that just made him look even more like he had been dragged from hell.

What the hell was wrong with him! His mind should be on the bigger picture, the Lovecraftian horrors that were pushing their way into the world, yet he was worrying about the fact that Martin might fancy Gerry as much as he did. 

_ Shit. _

*****

Martin couldn’t stop watching the two of them out on his balcony, they were talking in low voices, he couldn’t make out the words just the tone. 

Would it be stupid if he just suggested they ran away? 

Whatever they were tangled in, they didn’t have to deal with it, someone else could do it right? 

He could probably convince Gerry to help him kidnap Jon, but then what? He doubted they would get far. It wasn’t as if Martin was the richest person in the world. 

And that was it wasn’t it. The institute? The Eye? They didn't have to do much. 

It wasn't as if he could go anywhere; he had his mother’s bills to pay. He barely made ends meet as it was. 

He was stuck. 

But Jon didn’t have to be. He could leave. 

Martin would be fine. Probably.

He took a moment to calm himself. He wasn’t panicking, something that surprised him. 

He was just angry. Did they really get no say in this? He barely had the resources to fake being an archival assistant. How was he supposed to fake it as a tea boy to an eldritch abomination?

Jon had said something to Gerry and the corners of his lips had turned up in a smile. 

Martin mirrored him. 

Video calls really hadn’t done him justice. But at least when he was on the other side of the ocean Martin could hide the racing of his heartbeat and laugh off the feeble attempts to flirt. 

But maybe Martin hadn’t been the only one to notice how handsome Gerry was? 

Martin had seen the way Jon had struggled to keep his eyes off the other man, all the way to the café, all the way here to his flat and constantly in the lift's reflection. 

They seemed to get along swimmingly.

Martin had listened to the tapes, he had heard the way Jon’s voice changed when he spoke about Gerry. It had a fondness in it that Martin doubted he would ever use when speaking about him. 

Worse still they looked good together, like they belonged. 

Martin was more than aware that he and Jon were polar opposites. Why would Jon look at him when Gerry was here, and looked like that?

To make it worse, Gerry had been staring every bit as much as Jon had. Every time Jon opened his mouth Gerry hung on every word. 

Martin ran his fingers over the back of his other hand, tracing the places Jon’s palm had pressed against his skin. That had been real. It had been real, and he had felt his heart race. 

“So there are no entities of good?” Jon asked shivering as he entered the flat again, they accessed the balcony from the large window at the back of Martins kitchenette. He was sure it was only supposed to be for pot plants, but he hadn’t liked the idea of Jon and Gerry leaving his sight. 

Scooping up the three mugs he moved back over to the sofa in the other men’s wake. 

“No, that would be stupid.” Gerry said, throwing himself back down on the chair and taking the cup that he was offered. 

“Oh yes, I forgot, a god that manifests from the fear of the dark is such a sensible concept.” Jon griped.

Martin smiled to himself. He didn’t need to turn to look to know the exasperated expression that would be on Jon’s face right now, he had probably even done the eye roll to match. 

“Hate to break it to you but the Easter bunny and Santa don’t exist either. I know, it’s a rough blow, I hate to be the one that has to deal it.” Gerry Joked back.

“My entire life is a lie.” Jon said dryly as he took his mug from Martin again, he was shivering. 

On instinct Martin reached out and handed him the yellow throw to wrap around himself before getting up to put the heating on. 

“Thank you Martin.” Jon muttered as he joined him again on the sofa his own tea in hand. 

“Speaking of lies…” Martin began, finally breaking off the eye contact Jon held him in. “You were going to tell us how you aren't dead.” 

“Firstly…” Gerry took a sip of his tea, his piercings clacking against the mug. “That wasn’t a lie, I did die. You saw the autopsy.” 

Jon shuffled at his side pulling the blanket closer round him, he had even pulled his feet up under him. He wasn’t watching Gerry though; he was watching Martin from his cocoon of blanket.

“Yeah you looked dead, not that I’m an expert in corpses.” Martin offered as an answer.

“Wish I could say the same.” Gerry muttered “Secondly, I couldn’t explain what happened without you knowing about the other stuff first, and even then I’m a little hazy on the details. I was dead at the time.”

“I heard Gertrude bound you to the same book your mother haunted.” Jon whispered. 

“Got it in one.” Gerry jumped to his feet pulling up his shirt to expose his lank chest. 

Martin felt Jon’s reaction matching his own, the embarrassment of wanting to look away but the morbid curiosity of wanting to see more.

Gerry’s tattoo’s did indeed extend to the rest of his body. 

The stylised eyes jutted out over the band of his jeans riding on his hipbones. 

The scarring from his burns stretched the expanse of his stomach ending at a sharp line.

A surgical scar. The perfect rectangle of unblemished skin sat across his heart. 

Martin chanced a look at Jon. He could see the flush rising in his features even in the low light of the lamp. He figured he probably wasn’t fearing any better. 

Gerry practically stripping in his front room was not doing his crush any favours. 

“Seems that when Gertrude bound me to the book, she brought my attention to the End. Had a nice little visit from our old friend The Coroner. Oliver Banks? I think you might know him a little better as António Blake?” Gerry pulled his shirt back down, throwing himself back on the chair and grabbing his tea again, he seemed agitated and Martin didn’t blame him. 

“Can’t even escape the fab fourteen in death, talk about a bum deal.” 

Gerry paused making sure that Jon and Martin were following his train of thought. 

“So what, you just un died? What are you, like, a zombie?” Jon asked awed.

“A zombie? Really?” Gerry nearly choked on his tea.

“Don’t worry, he asked me if I was a ghost. It’s just something he does…” That gained an aggravated ‘tut’ from the pile of blankets that sometimes passed as his boss.

“The End brought me back, apparently I didn’t want to die? Could have fooled me. Woke up staring at the inside of a body bag. Did a flit before anyone noticed.” Gerry looked paler than normal, if it was even possible. 

“Managed quite a while on my own, until things started getting weird again, I tried to distance myself from everything, found jobs working at roadside attractions, got a campervan and tried to keep my head down.” he absentmindedly carded his hand over his heart tapping at the bizarrely unmarked skin beneath his black shirt.

“Turns out the blackouts I was experiencing was Gertrude summoning me to that stupid book.”

“The catalogue of the trapped dead?” 

“Yep, turns out I was dead enough to still be bound to the stupid book, I tracked it down eventually, expected to have a run in with Gertrude, imagine my surprise when some old hunter and his kid had it. The last thing they expected was for their monster manual knocking on the door looking for a product recall.”  Jon laughed, but it enthralled Martin. Listening to Gerry talk was almost as hypnotic as listening to Jon read a statement. 

“Sorry Gerry, please go on.” Jon apologised from his cocoon.

“Well, what was I supposed to do with the book? Couldn’t exactly burn it, there was every chance that wouldn’t end well for me if it still bound me to it. The only option I had was to hope that the Usher foundation would take me seriously. They did thankfully, and after explaining what had happened their head researcher agreed that the best and safest place for the book was their artefact storage.” Gerry stifled another yawn. 

“They offered me a place on payroll, I changed my name and I’ve been existing in the shadows ever since.”

“So” Martin pointed at his own heart “Your skin is still in the book?”

“Guess the End had other plans? It fixed the broken bit. I guess? All my skin was intact when I came too. Well I say my skin, its a bit of a loose term to be fair, it's skin but its a lot less tattooed than mine was. I never asked Oliver, man is all air and graces and incredibly academic. It's a nightmare to get a straight answer out of him.”

Martin looked at Jon who was chewing on his own thumb as he tried to put together the facts that Gerry had provided him with. 

“Yes, I know someone who was like that, he’s mellowed a little with old age,” 

“You said you were under the Eye, before. What about now?” Jon ignored the sly jab.

“I honestly don't know. Sometimes it feels like they all have me. I know the Eye had me from birth, my darling mother made sure of that, but the Hunt and the End both want their dues.”

“Earlier, you said you could see the Web on me?” Jon shuffled closer to Martin, “What did you mean by that?”

“What I said. It’s strange, ever since Oliver brought me back I’ve been able to see fear. I guess it's some unholy amalgamation of the eye and the End. Better than seeing the paths of someone’s death I guess, but only just.”

“See fear?” the phrase had caught him, how could you see fear? Was it the same as hearing colours? 

“Sounds daft, but yeah I can see fear, it's like an artist's palette of colour. It’s not all the time, but where the Fourteen have taken hold the colours are brightest. The institute for example, has a constant green pulsing light. It's like a beacon, I could see it all the way from Pimlico. Or this place," he twirled his hand around pointing at Martin's flat in general. "The Lonely is strong here, It’s sequestered the building for its own.” He muffled a yawn. “I've been able to see that green around the two of you like some sort of creepy aura ever since I saw you on the Skype call. But now… now I can see all the other fears tangled in like a patchwork of fear. Though not right now, the Lonely seems to have watered down the hue, it’s hazy. It’s nice to have the break from it.”

Martin felt Jon place his hand on the small of his back. He sunk into the touch. Gerry was watching them again, though he now lay back against the chair, he looked exhausted. When was the last time he had slept? All Martin needed was another Jon. It was bad enough trying to get his Jon to take a damn nap.

“You aren't stopping here then.” It was soft and sleep laden. But loud enough to tear Martin away from Gerry. Jon’s eyelids were sagging now, the events of the day catching up on him. “You can stop at mine or something, I can’t have you staying somewhere dangerous.”

“Oh yeah? Is that your way of sacking me? Cause both of us spend a hell of a lot of time in the Eye's temple if you believe all this.”

“But what…”

“But what? As far as I can see, nowhere is safe, if this place is as doused in the Lonely as Gerry says, at least that might stop me being laid siege to by another Jane Prentiss.”

“I still don’t like it.” Jon muttered again.

“You don’t have to. I'm a fully grown man. I can make my own stupid choices.” The two of them were sitting insanely close now, Jon still hadn’t moved his hand from the bottom of his back and suddenly that was all Martin could focus on. 

Jon Sims was sitting on his sofa, wrapped in his blankets and his hand was on the small of his back. Was it in comfort? There had been a lot of that today.

When he had imagined this scene in his head, Jon didn’t look quite as worn out.

Martin really could get lost in Jon’s eyes this close up, it was a cliché but they were like two deep dark pools that looked into his soul as he looked down at the man. 

If it wasn’t for the sudden onslaught of snoring, he might have done something stupid like leant forward and kissed away that worry line between Jon’s eyebrows.

  
  


When Martin looked away to find the source of the sound, his eyes fell on the chair.

Gerry had fallen asleep, his head lolled to the side. He didn’t look comfortable, but he looked like he needed sleep. He could rest. Martin had already decided the man wasn’t a threat. 

It was probably something to do with the fluffy socks. He was quite happy to be murdered in his sleep, as long as the reporter picked up on the fluffy socks.

He got to his feet to the disgruntled sounds of Jon shifting on the sofa. 

He crossed to the linen cupboard and pulled out his finest collection of Primark throws, dumping some on the sofa next to a confused Jon, he shook out a large tartan number that he pulled from the pile.

“What are you doing?” Jon asked as Martin stepped towards Gerry. Martin just shook his head, he wasn’t going to wake the man when he so obviously needed the rest. When was the last time he had slept without worrying that something or someone was trying to kill him? 

At least Jon’s only enemy was himself most of the time. 

He carefully removed the mug from Gerry’s hand before it spilled on the chair. It came away easy. He was fast asleep. 

Throwing the blanket over him he resisted the urge to tuck him in. but only just.

“The other ones are for you.” Martin pointed at the pile of throws. “Since you’re staying too. Just in case.” Jon hadn’t said anything but Martin could tell from the look on the man’s face that he was going nowhere.

Martin had intended to go to bed, the sofa was more than big enough for Jon to sleep on, but when Jon looked at him like that, sleepy and almost pleading, he stalled. He really didn’t want to leave Jon’s side. 

He positioned the layers of throws across the two of them, Jon seemed happy to sit and let him fuss.

Gerry’s gentle snores seemed to lull them, he felt the call of sleep reaching out to him as soon as he let his head rest against the back of the chair. He was vaguely aware of Jon curling in to his side before sleep claimed him. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter length continuity? don't be silly .
> 
> Thankyou all for the kudos and comments.


	8. Chapter 8

Jon was aware of daylight. It filtered through his lids, trying its hardest to make sure he was awake. 

Just five more minutes, he was warm and surprisingly comfortable. 

It took his mind a few moments to catch up and process the world the way his body seemed to. He pushed his head further into the pillow trying to block out the sunlight.

Daylight? What time was it? Had his alarm not gone off? He was going to be late for work and the last thing he needed was Elias mad at him he didn’t need that, not on top of the generalised feeling of dread that followed him around work daily. 

He had fallen asleep on his damn sofa again. He could feel the ridge of the cushion digging into his hip, a design choice he would never have made himself if he had been the one to furnish his own flat. 

Slowly, he stretched. Cracking his eyes open to see a barrier of yellow fluff.

That wasn’t right, He most definitely did not own any yellow throws? the cushion shifted. only, he absolutely did not have any cushions in his flat, yet his head was definitely resting on something soft. 

Soft and warm.

Soft and warm and breathing. 

He sat up suddenly; the room coming in to focus as he straightened his glasses. Familiar but so different. 

Martin.

He had stopped at Martin’s last night. 

Gerry. 

Gerry was here, and they stayed at Martin’s last night, because the alternative had been walking out into the world knowing that Martin was alone with Gerry.

Plus, the world was a lot more dangerous when you knew the things in the shadows were definitely out to kill you. That was the pressing matter, not the other thing. Obviously.

They had both stayed at Martin’s last night. It was fine. Just three guys hanging out…

Only when he glanced over to the chair, Gerry was gone. 

His throw was folded neatly on the chair. If it wasn’t for the mug on the end table, it would be like he had never been there at all, and Martin… well Martin was apparently what Jon had been using as a pillow. 

Martin was still asleep, his head curled up on his own arm where it lay across the end of the sofa. His glasses were askew, pressing into the side of his face in a way that made Jon want to reach out and straighten them, or at least remove them to make him a little more comfortable. 

He took a moment to look at him, unguarded like this Jon could feel that creature in his chest purring with content. How had it taken him so long to realise what he felt for Martin? 

Why had it taken someone else turning his head for Jon to find the courage to do something? He really was an idiot. 

Yet as he looked at Martin now, he could almost feel himself drawn back under the throws and into Martin’s side as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jon weighed up his options. He could wake him up? If the sun was up, they were definitely going to be late for work, if they weren't already. 

He could leave… but what had Gerry said about the Lonely? He didn’t like the idea of leaving Martin alone. 

So he wouldn’t. After all, he was the boss. Who was he going to report their tardiness too, himself? 

He could get up and get himself a cup of tea, but that felt rude, almost like crossing a line again. 

But he couldn’t just sit here. It might be creepy if Martin woke up and found his boss staring at him. Right?

The voice in his mind was pleading with him to just curl up against Martin again. It had felt nice; it had felt right. It would be easy to do; he could fold back in the groove that he had awoken in, and maybe he could pull back the threads of safety he had felt pressed flush to Martin’s side. 

Begrudgingly he got to his feet, Martin wasn’t interested. And even if he was, they had much bigger things to worry about. 

Like where the hell was Gerry?

Carefully Jon got to his feet, making sure not to jostle Martin where he slept. Picking up the abandoned mugs, he moved over to the part of Martin’s flat designated ‘kitchen’, you could tell by the way the carpet tiles sharply turned into linoleum.

He fished his phone out of his pocket as he turned on the kettle. No missed calls or texts from work, but he had a notification in WhatsApp.

**I’ve gone to Pinhole.**

**Gerry.**

He stared at the screen for a few moments. What did he say to that? Of course Gerry wanted to go home. He had no reason to be hanging around with Jon and Martin, not now they were all on the same page. He had things to be doing. 

The kettle clicked. And Martin jolted awake, the blankets falling from him as he sat up, eyes darting around the room as if he also wasn’t sure where he was. 

“Morning.” Jon offered when Martin’s confused face landed on him. 

“Morning?” Martin yawned, it did something to that creature in Jon’s chest, Martin really looked adorable all sleep worn and tousled like this. “Where’s Gerry?” 

Of course the first thing Martin would want to know was the whereabouts of Gerry. Jon focused on cleaning the mugs, purposely not looking at Martin. 

But he couldn’t help it, he wanted to look at the man; he wanted to enjoy this bit of awkward normality. 

Jon was so transfixed on trying not to stare at Martin, that when the man reached past him to pull the tea caddy down off the shelf beside him, he nearly jumped.

“Did he text you too?” Martin reached past Jon plugging in his phone to charge. Resting it on the windowsill that housed a tiny garden of mini pot plants and a picture of a woman that Jon assumed must be Martin’s mother. 

“Yes, although what he thinks he’s going to find in his mother’s bookshop is beyond me.”

At his side Martin had fished out two tea bags and placed them in the now clean mugs on the counter. Was it Jon’s imagination or was he moving closer?

“Maybe he had unfinished business? All I know is its none of our business.” Martin gestured towards the kettle, Jon took it upon himself to fill up the two mugs with the boiling water as Martin reached into the cupboard to get the sugar. 

“He could have woken us up before he left though. I am definitely late for work. My boss will not be happy.” he shook his head overly dramatically. 

“He’s a right grumpy bastard if I don’t get him his cup of tea before half nine.” Martin nudged him with his hip. Shaking a small laugh from Jon that sounded so unlike him, he almost checked to see if someone else had come in.

“Hum, yeah he sounds like a right arse, I’m sure you have a perfectly decent excuse for being late.” Jon watched as Martin hid his look of amusement, then added in the sugar and milk, making the tea change colour. 

“Well, I don't know how well he would take it. Me not wanting to get up because someone was using me as a pillow. I mean it's not professional, and I hear he’s really into that.” he jabbed.

“He might be willing to make an exception.” Jon pondered as Martin stirred each cup slowly contemplating the words.

“Hum, I don’t know he’s kind of a stickler for the rules.” Martin scooped the bags out of the mugs and dropped them in the bin without a dribble or drop hitting the counter. He passed the mug to Jon and when Martin’s fingers pressed against his own, the man looked him straight in the eye and smiled.

Jon had to swallow down the strange lump in his throat. Were they flirting? 

This seemed like flirting. 

This was the playful back and forth that Tim scattered around like confetti, it felt so out of place and unusual when it wasn’t filtered through Tim’s natural charisma.

“I think he will be appeased by the fact he’s got this" Jon lifted his mug a little Martin's hand moving with his own. "After all, It’s only just turned nine, I think?” Jon said truthfully, trying his hardest not to blink first. He wasn’t good at this, he really wasn’t.

“Well, that works out alright then,” the kitchen was tiny, this close to the sink, they were practically on top of each other. Martin looked down at him as he slid one finger at a time back from Jon’s hand. 

Jon felt like Martin was trying to read him, try to work out what was going on in his mind as they stood silently in Martin’s sunny kitchen. 

he felt himself lingering on the curve of Martin’s lips and the breath caught in his lungs. 

He was so confused.

“But seriously, this is the second day in a row we've been late for work,” Martin’s tone had moved to serious but it hadn’t made him move away.

“It is becoming a bit of a habit, yes.” 

Martin had a freckle on his left eye. Jon had never noticed that before, but then again he never got to look at Martin this close up. 

The one tiny brown dot buried in the green and grey suddenly seemed very important. Why had Jon not noticed it before? He could see another worm scar too, it sat just behind the bridge of Martin’s glasses. 

Martin shifted and his hip caught Jon’s where it rested on the counter. With a sudden start, Jon realised he was at a compromise. Martin was making him vulnerable…

“We should drink up and get to work.” Martin’s voice was breathy, as if he had been holding it but he finally broke eye contact, and with that ,Jon took a step back.

He was almost pinned against the fridge, yet Martin hadn't moved. 

He just seemed to be everywhere. 

What was Jon thinking? Of course he was everywhere, it was his flat. 

Jon didn’t know what had got into him, he had been so sure about himself for so long. Well, at least on some things. 

He thought he had finally worked it out with Georgie, and as she put it … he just  _ didn't.  _

So why was he imagining what it would be like for Martin to lift him up and ‘didn’t’ against the fridge?

He shook his head; he needed to… he needed to… he needed to do anything as long as he could step away from the confusing thoughts that raced through his mind.

It had been a long time since that sort of thought had entertained him. 

Yes, he had imagined kissing Martin; it had never opposed him, kissing in fact he rather enjoyed it. In his head there had been various scenarios that involved him just finally giving in one day and pouncing on Martin in the stacks. 

But his mind had new source material, and it had written a new screenplay of its own. The feel of Martin’s chest, the gentle rise and fall of his breathing against his cheek. The warmth of his arm wrapped against his skin... 

“You ok?” Martin looked worried.

“Yeah… I just…” he scuttled to the sofa, cupping the tea in both hands and focusing on the small swirls of steam that came off it, trying to calm the aching in his lungs and think of anything but the soft touch of Martin’s fingers on the back of his hand. 

“Jon?”

“Sorry, It's just thrown me. I thought I was in my flat this morning when I woke up. I have almost exactly the same furniture joys of renting in London. Do you think they get stuff at a discount in Ikea if they buy in bulk? I’ve never managed to get past the candle section unscathed. It's quite the remarkable feat of marketing genius, after a miles and miles of white and monochrome to shove you in a sea of bright colours and nice smells…the meatballs are nice. But the hotdogs? I don't think anyone can escape without buying one...”  _ shut up Jon your rambling, _ the voice in his head pleaded “Thank you for the tea by the way.” 

Martin lingered by the fridge dumbstruck. 

Maybe it was too early for his info dump. Martin had just woken up, he even had an adorable crease mark on his face where he scratched at day old stubble.

Jon was aware he was making an absolute fool of himself, this was like the time he had prattled on about emulsifiers when they had gone out for Martin’s birthday.

He had felt like an idiot then as well. 

“Yeah… I’m going to… yeah…” Martin pointed at the door to his bedroom. “Get changed, then we better get to work ?”

“Oh… yes work… wouldn’t want to upset the boss too much.” Martin gave him a sheepish grin before disappearing behind the bedroom door and closing it with a resolute click. 

“Fuck.” Jon muttered into his wrists as he buried the heels of his hands into his eyes in despair. 

Well, that had been a monumental fuck up.

*****

Gerry stood on the steps of Pinhole books.

It had never changed, the only indicator of time having passed was the thick layer of dust and grime that lined the window pane. 

He didn’t have his keys; they were long gone. 

Even though he had never really intended to return home. (no, it wasn’t home) he had kept his keys. He wondered what Gertrude had done with his stuff when she had identified his body and claimed his possessions; she wasn't the sentimental type. 

He glanced up and down the street, this early nobody was wandering down these side streets. He walked to the top step, then counted the drops back till he was on the fourth step down. He twisted to his left, placing a hand on the railings. Each step had its own fleur-de-lis and when Gerry placed his hand on the one that corresponds with the step he twisted his wrist. 

The ironwork slipped from the post, and with it there was a tinkling noise as something long and brass bounced down the remaining steps. 

As he picked up the rusty key, he turned it over in his hands again and again. It was a minor miracle that it had still been there, but then again why would anyone but him and his mother know of the hiding place? 

It wasn’t as if anyone was rushing to buy any of the old books that still haunted the place. The good stuff was long gone.

He was however surprised that the building hadn't been bought out or sold out from beneath him. His mother had owned the place, they had money. It had never been about money to Mary Keay;

  
  
  
  


it was all about the reputation. 

The legacy.

What’s the point in a legacy if you plan on living forever? She must have been so disappointed in him. 

He revelled in that. The easiest thing in the world to do was the one thing that upset her the most. 

It was very easy to not be the son Mary had wanted. 

And each step he took away from that the more it dug in her like a knife.

The door swung open as ominous as it ever had, the layers of dust shifting as the cold breeze whipped through the street and made itself known. 

Gerry paused, closing the door behind himself seemed like he was locking himself in with the ghosts of his past, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

He should have brought Jon or Martin with him.

But he couldn’t bring himself to disturb them when he awoke. 

They looked so peaceful, and the pair of them very much looked like they needed the rest.

Jon had been curled into Martin’s side, the blankets pulled tight around them. Jon’s hands tangled into Martin’s shirt, and Martin with his arm slung protectively around the smaller man’s shoulders. 

They looked content. He had looked too long and his heart had ached for something he could never have.

But Jon and Martin? You could see how much they cared about the other. Why hadn’t Martin said something? Anything. 

It had stung. 

Not that Gerry had been expecting Martin to fall into his arms when he finally got to meet the man, but it was a bitter blow. He had actively been flirting with Gerry over the phone and he had stupidly got his hopes up. 

The wind slammed the door shut behind him. This time it disturbed even more decay, it fell from the ceiling and the light shades cascading like snowfall and coating him in a layer of grey dust. At least it was just normal old dust. The sort that accumulated in academia over years of neglect.

The lights didn’t work, not that he had expected them to, it wasn’t like he had paid the electricity bills in the last few years, that was clear from the stacks of matching white envelopes on the floor behind the door. 

He scooped them up and dropped them on the table that stood next to the first row of books. 

These were the generic old books that his mother would buy in from house sales, on the off chance something chewy lay buried in the boxes. 

Rarely did they turn up a really esoteric tome, but pot shots at rich people's leftovers did occasionally turn up the goods.

He drew a line in the dust as his fingers scaled the bindings of the books that sat on the shelf. He really should have brought Martin. 

Gerry had seen the books scattered around his flat, he was sure that he had some first editions of the same ones somewhere in the looming towers of hardbacks. 

Martin was a fan of the classics and poetry, he had that in bulk. Money liked to show off their collections, some of them barely read, not even a crease in the spine.

In his pocket his phone gave a warning beep, it was about to die. He hadn’t charged it since the flight and it was dangerously low when he had text Jon and Martin; it had taken way too long to find a Wi-Fi signal that wasn't password protected. 

The Eye seemed reluctant to give him the information he needed to access the locked networks. There was nothing in it for the Beholding, it was like it had thrown a tantrum at being cut off for a few hours when they were in Martin's flat and it didn’t want to be as forthcoming as it had with door codes and back entrances to its humble abode.

He really was going to have to get a sim card, his phone would not connect to any network, and it was getting annoying now. 

He needed to find somewhere to stay, he couldn’t exactly stay at the bookstore if he was trying to keep a low profile. He would have to get the power back on, and that would leave a paper trail.

A different last name might hide him from sight for a while but it was just a matter of time before the truth would come out. Elias had known his father, it wouldn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

That was if Elias hadn’t already worked out he was back? He hadn’t enjoyed getting a glimpse of the man through his own eyes; it was unnerving to see dead grey eyes staring back at you.

Eventually he turned towards the steps that lead to the flat above, he had to cross over the rug that hid the stain that no amount of scrubbing could wash out. He had been doing so well; he had managed not to think about it until right then. 

His mother still haunted the place. Her memory built into the walls and etched in more than one way into the floor. 

The only thing that haunted him here now was the past.

He found what he was looking for in the vent behind his old bed. He wasn’t surprised to see the spiders scuttling away; the Web had spun its way into all the corners of the building with his absence. He had felt the Mother of Puppets and the Eye as soon as he walked in the door, but the residual numbness of the Forsaken had stopped him seeing the colours until now. The gossamer thin ochre ran vividly through the cracks in the plaster and up through the gaps in the floorboard. 

“I’m already playing your stupid game Anabelle, leave me alone.” he said aloud to the empty room as he slid his scavenged treasure in to his bag and hoisted it back up on his shoulders. 

“Now if you don’t mind, I would like it if you could leave. I will burn the place to the ground if I have to.” 

Gerry watched as the tendrils rolled back across the floor like a retreating tide, he knew she wouldn’t be gone for long, but he felt a small pang of victory that his compulsion was starting to come back. 

  
  


******

The trip to work was painful. The underground was just as packed as if it had been rush hour. Zone one was always full of tourists, standing shoulder to shoulder was a given. 

However, Martin didn’t normally have to deal with the fear that if he moved even the slightest he was going to press in to Jon.

It seemed like such a stupid thing to be paranoid about, but something between them had changed.

The idea of touching Jon no longer seemed like an alien concept, there was absolutely no reason he shouldn’t reach out and place his hand on Jon to steady him where the train shoved them back and forth as they pulled from station to station. 

Jon had reached out and initiated contact several times yesterday, something that Martin’s mind was now trying to comprehend.

But Jon had freaked out this morning when Martin had grazed his hand over Jon’s. It hadn’t been instant, but he had pulled away. Panicked even. 

Now he was even more confused. And to make matters worse, it wasn’t even as if he could talk it through with Sasha, because he had promised that he wouldn’t pull her and Tim into this mess. 

How could he explain to Sasha that he thought Jon was going to kiss him in his flat over breakfast, without explaining why Jon was there in the first place?

They jostled deeper into the carriage as a woman with a pram got on. 

Martin was always thankful for his height when the tube was like this, he could often see over the heads of the other commuters, easily reach the grab pole and still see the tube maps that he still relied on, despite having lived in London for much of his adult life. 

Jon however seemed to have a rougher time of it. 

Pinned between a business suit and a gym bunny who seemed to not even realise they were bumping them with bags and umbrellas every time the carriage swayed from side to side. Jon’s face was a vacant blank.

Martin knew that look, Jon was bad at lot’s of people. He avoided the institute parties, deliberately aimed to miss rush hour by leaving home way too early and returning home too late. 

Martin wondered if it had started when he moved to London or if he had always been like this. 

Every time the train stopped more people pressed into the tiny metal tube. Jon had taken to fixating on something near Martin's left eye. Martin would have been self-conscious, if it wasn’t for the fact that he had seen Jon zone out like this before. 

When they pulled into the next station Martin took his chance, the end of the carriage was a little less crowded near the single door and the back of the train. He grabbed Jon and manoeuvred them till he had them in the carriage's corner. 

Martin's back to the crowd of people and Jon pinned between him and the window. 

“Thank you.” Jon mouthed as he slumped against the window, eyes closed and his hand placed against Martin’s chest. The light pressure was enough to make Martin zone in on the touch, the rest of the train fading into the background. 

There was just Jon and him, in his Martin shaped cocoon. 

Jon stood there for a moment, clutching to Martin’s chest and breathing heavily. 

Martin wished he could hear the sound of his exhales over the noise of the carriage but the screeching and clacking of rails drowned out all noise down here in the depths of the earth.

They pulled into another station and an endless dance of the underground happened again, Martin however stood his ground. He felt Jon tighten his fingers again on the fur of his coat and press up against him. When more people packed the overcrowded train Martin got pushed further towards him.

“Just a few more stops.” he tried to make his voice sound cheerful, but it was hard when all he could think of was how Jon had just pressed his leg in between his own, moved his other hand to grip at his arm where Martin had taken hold of the pole to keep them upright locking them in place. Jon was staring up at him intensely, though he was looking at him this time and not that spot to the left of his eye. Martin’s heart was racing.

Martrin was currently stuck between what Tim referred to as gay panic, stress and whatever the gnawing sensation was in his stomach. 

Jon said something but Martin couldn’t hear it over the background noise. 

He lent in closer as Jon repeated himself. He could feel Jon’s beard rub against his cheek as he lent up to speak in his ear. 

“I’m not good on the tube.” Jon repeated. As the train pulled into another stop.

“I had guessed.” In a moment of bravery Martin moved his free hand to Jon’s shoulder, bracing himself as the passengers alighted and boarded around them, jostling them but Martin remained determined he would not move. Jon needed this bit of space and after he had been there for him yesterday, he would not let him do this alone.

“Being a small mountain has its uses, I can barely feel the seven handbags and the elbow in my back at all.” he joked as he smoothed down the fabric of Jon’s coat. 

“It’s our stop next.” Jon sounded disappointed. Martin could swear he could feel his stubble catching on Jon’s beard, the smaller man was now almost pressed right up against him in the tiny space that Martin had carved out in the busy cab. 

“Long stretch coming up first.” 

He was sure Jon muttered ‘not long enough’ as he planted his feet back on the floor. 

He didn’t drop his hands holding on to Martin like an anchor to the seabed, his eyes fixed firmly on Martins until the tube pulled into the station.

The jerk of the train coming to a stop shouldn’t have been a shock, but Martin's mind was elsewhere, entertaining a daydream where he had the guts to sweep Jon up and take him back to his flat, work be damned.

“This is us.” Jon sighed as the door slid open by his head and he jumped down on the platform quicker than a whippet out of a gate. He had moved so fast that the woman with the buggy had got between him and Martin. Struggling to get the pram down to the platform, she dropped her bags all over the carriage floor.

“Jon!” Martin called indicating the buggy as he darted around the carriage between peoples ignorant trampling to gather up the fallen items before the train pulled away again. 

As he jumped down onto the platform in the nick of time he saw Jon standing next to the woman with the pram, she seemed flustered but she beamed at Martin as he moved towards them.

“Thank You so much,” She said, taking the bags and fallen items from Martin tucking them away on the bottom of the pram. “Can I at least buy you and your boyfriend a coffee to say thankyou?” she asked Jon earnestly. 

Martin waited for Jon to correct her but it never came, he just smiled sweetly, something Martin had never seen before, and shook his head. 

“It’s appreciated but we are already late for work.” Jon reached down catching the discarded toy the child in the pram had just thrown at him before it hit the floor. He hunched down and presented it to the child who seemed impressed at Jon’s reflexes. Momentarily, until they threw it straight at him again hitting him square in the eyes. 

“Good shot kid.” Martin said, holding out a hand to help Jon back up from where he had toppled on the floor, much to the mother’s distress. 

When he got to his feet Jon didn’t let go of his hand straight away. 

Martin looked down at their entwined hands before looking anywhere but at Jon as he handed the toy back to the child for a second time.

“I should go or Benjamin will have you here all day playing fetch.” The woman smiled at them again as Benjamin lined up for a hatric. 

They watched her head off in the lift's direction, all the while Martin was aware of nothing but Jon’s fingers wrapped in with his own. The sound of the next tube coming into the station made Jon come back to himself. 

He dropped Martin’s hand but not before running his finger gently across the curve of Martin’s thumb tracing the shape and copying the gentle touch Martin had bestowed over his tea.

“Come on, we're already late.” Jon began power walking towards the exit, leaving Martin in his wake and wondering what the hell was going on.

  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bangs pots and pans...   
> I will put plot in this I swear to whatever god will have me 
> 
> thanks for all the comments you lot are the m.v.p here you know that?


	9. Chapter 9

“- so the last person to see him was that dock worker, loading out the container, I would give it up as a dead end-”

Tim and Sasha were at the desk when Jon and Martin finally made it to work. Tim vocalising his latest statement research, heads inclined close together where they poured over the work.

Jon knew it was stupid to think that he was going to make it in to his office unscathed. He had worked with them both for too long, the chance to get a sly dig in at him would not go unchallenged.

“-and pursue far more lucrative facts. Like the fact, that for the second day running, our esteemed boss has turned up late for work with our dear corruptible Martin in tow.”

Tim hadn't looked up, but he hadn't even missed a beat. Still pouring over the paperwork on his desk as he turned the conversation towards their late arrival. 

Sasha however had her head on her palm, tapping her cup with painted nails where she lent it on her desk. A slow funeral march drummed against ceramic as she watched Jon and Martin hover in the doorway.

“Tim, now come on, I'm sure there is some absolutely solid reason both of them have turned up late again. You and your conspiracy theories will get us nowhere...” she smiled like a Cheshire cat, directing her attention solely on Jon “will they Jonathan?” 

Jon had spent the entire time walking from the tube trying to think up a decent excuse why they were late again. But he had yet to come up with anything plausible. He knew he must look like a rabbit caught in headlights and had never been as thankful as when Martin stepped in to talk for him. 

“It was my review. We did it away from you two vultures. I believe last time you nearly fell through Jon’s door Sash? And I know your gumshoe impression has got a lot better, so I asked for it to be away from the archives.” Martin lied so easily it was scarily good. It rolled off his tongue like the truth. He dropped his bag on his part of the desk and threw his coat on the rack by the door. 

“You will be pleased to know, I've passed another review so you get to suffer my tea for at least another six months.” Martin said over his shoulder as he wandered towards the break room.

“Shit, I forgot reviews were due.” Tim grumbled as Jon passed the desk and headed into his office. Sasha and Tim were both cautiously watching him, so they didn't see the smile that Martin gave him before he pushed the door closed. 

As soon as the door clicked Jon sagged. He did not know how he hadn’t completely self imploded this morning. 

He scrubbed his hands over his face to try to ground himself.

What the hell was that on the tube?

He swore he could taste Martin’s aftershave on his lips; he had been so close... 

How did Martin just know what he needed him to do? Jon avoided the underground. He hated the feeling of traversing down and down and down, deeper and deeper under old foundations and closing in sediment on every side. 

The people were too much, like ants scurrying through man made tunnels towards a common goal. He hated having to be constantly alert as people shoved and prodded and poked. 

Yet Martin had swept in and saved him. He had known just what to do. Why was Martin so good at that, knowing the right action to take when the world seemed like it was too big and too loud, and the noise came crashing in on all sides?

Sinking into his chair, he pulled the statements for the day towards him, pulling a tape recorder from his top draw. 

On the third failed recording, he gave up.

All he could think about was the weight of Martin’s hand on his shoulder, the way he had held his gaze. Martin had looked at him as if he was something to be desired. Something that he craved, Jon wasn’t used to being looked at like that, like he mattered. 

He couldn’t chalk it up as a one off. It happened twice today, the two of them seemed locked in a stalemate, but so close to the cusp of something else? Something more? He had never been good at reading social cues, maybe this was just friendship and he was confusing it for more?

Yet, he had woken up curled into his assistant; he had been close to kissing him twice. He was sure that hadn’t been one sided, Martin had wanted it just as much as he did. Didn’t he?

Add on top the fact that Martin hadn’t corrected the woman on the platform when she had called them boyfriends.

His head hurt, but it wasn’t the headache that normally haunted him, lack of sleep tinged with a caffeine only diet. This was something deep, a throbbing that twinged when he thought of Martin, thought of Gerry thought of all the confusion and influx of information and circumstance that had accumulated over such a short amount of time.

Jon turned to his computer, the statements discarded, mind completely distracted.

He almost missed the Email summoning him up to see Elias. 

******

“You look like him you know?” 

Gerry was trying his best to ignore the thing that followed him around the Tate. 

Yet, the thing that called itself Micheal seemed determined to stick to his side. 

Occasionally Gerry would glimpse it in the display cabinets, limbs elongated and sharp in the reflection. 

Gerry had only come to the Tate to kill some time and get out of the relentless rain. The institute was just around the corner. 

He hoped he could grab Jon or Martin and get them to charge his phone so he could at least book a hotel, all his business account details were stored in his now dead phone, and he was reluctant to use his personal card in case it gave away his location. 

Though two monsters of the week had already tracked him down in the last twenty-four hours, his chances of that lasting much longer seem to dwindle by the second.

Gerry just wanted a shower and a decent nap. He should have known it wouldn't have been that easy. 

“I said, you look like him.” The Distortion repeated as they smiled at him with a grin like razor blades.

“Look like who?” Gerry asked as he stepped to one side to let a snake of school children get by them, he stepped in front of Micheal as the line passed his way. The creature watched the children pass with cautious eyes as they wound their way towards the stairwell.

“Your father, I worked with him.” 

“I know what you are, and I know that is a lie.” Gerry turned his full attention to them for the first time, a round friendly face framed by curls looked back at him. Michel was indescribable. Each time Gerry found something to focus on, his mind told him it wasn’t quite right. Their features moved, the human eye could determine it, but Gerry was nearly certain he wasn’t human anymore. 

The uncertain shifting he could see on the face of the Distortion, flowing like paint from a brush, draining away under the harsh chemical burn of turpentine seemed too easy for him to see. 

One moment their eyes were green, the next a deep brown. Blink and they were pale blue like the sky on a foggy day. 

“No need to be like that. I just want to help. I met you as a baby, you know? Eric was so very proud.” 

Gerry felt a flash of rage. This Thing didn’t get to speak about his father. The twisting deceit did nothing but lie and corrupt the truth to its own agenda. Every utterance so far had led him to think nothing ill will towards him.

Gerry stomped out of the portrait gallery, but Micheal followed him, his feet barely making a sound on the wooden floors. 

He really didn’t want to play dodge the fear avatar with all these kids around but if he had to lead Micheal on a merry chase to get him away from a potential snack, well, it would fill in a bit of time while he waited for salvation in the institute.

Canary yellow tendrils seeped under a door at the end of the landing ahead of him, unseen by anyone but Gerry. He had two choices, the obvious step into the door of the distortion or down the stairs. 

He took the latter, Micheal following him. 

“We were both used by Gertrude, you know? There's no need to be such a child about it all. I am only trying to help”

Gerry stopped short, Micheal was now on the next level down waiting for him. Leaning on the banister like he had been there some time. Gerry knew he hadn’t passed him. The smug look on Micheal’s face also showed that Micheal knew, Gerry knew, he hadn’t passed him. 

Gerry turned and headed back up to the floor above. His boots thudding against the hard stone steps.

Again, when he reached the first floor, Micheal was waiting for him, the yellow tendrils swirling around him.

“I only wish to help Gerard,” he stepped towards him now one step at a time “Let. Me. Help.” he punctuated each word with a jab to the shoulder. The last word was all but drowned out by the shriek of pain as a talon sunk into Gerrys flesh.

“Oh, now look what you made me do, I only wanted to help…”

  
  


*****

“Martin!”

Headed to the corner shop to get Tim a Twix after he lost a bet, Martin stopped on the spot when he heard his name squinting to make out who had called for him through the smears of rain on his glasses.

Maybe Tim had taken pity on him and was chasing him with an umbrella? After all it had been an unfair bet. He should have known that Tim could fit his entire fist in his mouth, it seemed like the sort of thing that could actually be a life skill if you were Timothy Stoker. 

He hadn’t been expecting it to be Gerry that was calling for him in the rain, after all he was supposed to be keeping a low profile.

Gerry shouted to him from down a side alley, he was clutching his shoulder and looking paler than he had the last time Martin had seen him. Drenched, his face plastered with hair, he looked miserable and even his backpack looked waterlogged.

“Gerry? What the hell?” he ducked into the alleyway trying to keep the worst of the rain out of his face and off his glasses so he could see what was going on. 

“I need you to charge my phone and bring it back out,” Gerry looked sick, how long had the stupid idiot been standing out in the rain? “I can't book a hotel or anything till I power it back on” 

“So you thought you would freeze to death outside work until me or Jon happened to wander out? I’m glad that’s working out for you.” Honestly, Gerry seemed to have the self-preservation instincts of a lemming, no wonder him and Jon got on so well..

“Well, I was hanging about in the Tate, but something happened.” The other man offered his phone for Martin to take. 

What was Gerry going to do while he was charging the thing? Stand about in the rain a bit longer? 

He would catch his death. Just because he had done it once, didn’t mean he had to make a habit of it. The second time it might stick.

Instead of taking the phone Martin reached into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. 

He shuffled them about till he found what he was looking for, his second door key. 

Pulling it off the ring he offered it up to Gerry.

“Do you remember how to get to mine?” he asked. 

Gerry looked back at him shivering. He nodded once.

“Door code is 1818. Have a shower and warm up, we can worry about everything else later. You look like shit and you need a rest.” it surprised Martin, his own bluntness, but he realised that he really could just be himself around Gerry, it was so easy to just say what he was really thinking. 

“Such a sweet talker. Do you talk to all of your men like this? Or just the ones you really like?” Gerry joked as he let Martin press the key into his palm. He was shivering, how long had he been hiding out here?

“Only the ones that make me worry. What were you thinking darting out on us this morning?” 

“I made you worry?” Gerry looked confused, as if someone being worried about him was such a foreign idea he had never thought of it before. Martin's heart ached a little to see that feeling he was so used too etched upon the other man's face.

“Yes, you made me worry. Made us worry really. You could have been off getting yourself murdered or anything,” Martin said honestly as they started walking towards the tube. 

Something made him trust Gerry, something more than the crush he had developed, he wasn’t stupid enough to let something like that influence him. He would never trust Tim in his flat alone. Yet he had barely known Gerry over a week and he was fine letting him have a key.

“You sure it’s ok?” Gerry asked, something open and honest in his eyes as he huddled in closer to Martin’s side trying to shield from the rain.

“I wouldn’t say it was if it wasn’t.” and he meant it, why was it both Gerry and Jon were so hell bent on not taking help when offered? Why was his type ‘strong willed idiot?’ 

“Sure you don’t want to check with Jon?”

“I'm sure he will be fine with it.” Martin stopped in the entrance to the tube. He didn’t want to think about why Gerry thought he had to run his decision past Jon. 

Still, it would be nice to have someone to come home to after work rather than an empty flat for a change. “If you take a shower, the hot tap is the cold tap and vice a versa, just jiggle it about a bit if it doesn’t work first time,”

“Think you're a little obsessed with showers, good sir.“ It was a joke, but Martin could feel the embracement creeping on him. There was so much loaded into the last conversation that they had about the same subject. 

“Fine then, don’t take a shower, stew in your own stink, it’s what two days now since you left New York?” 

“So you're saying I stink?”

“No. But I am saying make yourself at home.” He returned the shy smile that Gerry gave him. “I better get back to work,”

Martin felt Gerry’s gaze on him till he rounded the corner, he was proud that he had managed not to look back and wave. 

  
  


*****

Jon sat across from Elias, his wing-backed chair looking every bit as pompous as the man who sat in it.

When Jon had been called up to Elias’s office. He had passed through the main archives and noticed Martin was missing. 

When and where had he gone? He had been there when Jon had popped out to photocopy some notes and grab a bottle of water from the fridge; he had been translating a shipping document from Polish for Sasha. 

If it had taken a moment or two longer than normal to copy the sheets while he watched Martin pushing his glasses up his nose as he lost his concentration in translation it was worth it. 

But now his absence seemed to be clouded, Jon didn’t like coincidences when it came to Elias, and Martin’s absence seemed a little too convenient.

“Do you have the paperwork for Mr Blackwood’s review?” Elias had such a smug look on his face Jon found himself pausing to think about it. Of course he didn’t have any paperwork there hadn’t been an actual meeting for paperwork to be produced. 

Had Tim or Sasha said something to Elias? How did he know that this was the reason that Martin had used for them being late again this morning? 

No, they wouldn’t do that, what would they get out of it? They both disliked Elias as much as Jon did. Sasha even more so since he had overlooked her for the Archivist position. 

Jon knew he had joked about Elias having spies. But now, with the information Gerry had given them, he was inclined to believe he really did have Eyes everywhere.

“I haven’t finished writing it up yet, It was only this morning.” Jon spoke carefully aware of the minute upturn on Elias’s lips as he uttered the lie. 

“I expect evaluations back the same day Jonathan. You have been in the position for some time now, even you should know this.”

“I was working on it when you summoned me up here, I was under the impression it was for something more important than whether Martin can do his job.”

“And can he?”

Jon stalled, he had never been backwards at coming forwards with his dislike of Martin being part of his team uninvited by himself, yet the way Elias asked him now? It seemed like a thinly veiled threat of some sort and Jon couldn’t work out the angle he was working. Jon’s complicated feelings aside, it seemed Martin was more than capable of doing whatever Jon asked of him. 

“Martin is a valuable asset to my team, yes.”

Elias shuffled some papers on his desk, looking for something. 

“Then perhaps you can inform me why he is asking other members of staff to look into the institute funding? I do hope it’s not at your request Jon. After all, I have asked you not to meddle with the Lukas family in the past, our donors' actions are not the concerns of the archive staff,”Elias held his gaze. “I would hate to have to reprimand you all for unethical behaviour in the workplace.”

Jon was glad he was becoming used to having to face down Elias, his cold grey eyes no longer made him squirm on the spot as they once had, and he somehow managed to restrain from scratching at the scars on the back of his wrist as he calculated his answer.

“We had a request from the Usher institute regarding Solus shipping, they had a statement and requested information, I instructed Martin and Sasha to send them the bare minimum information, nothing that wasn’t already in the public domain. After all, we don’t want our sister organisation to think we're hiding something… do we?”

Elias’s hands stilled on his papers, and Jon knew he had played his hand well.

“Very well, but I expect no more investigations into the funding of the institute, and I expect Martin’s review on my desk first thing tomorrow.” 

Jon understood himself excused and was almost out of the room when Elias spoke again.

“And Jon, if you and Mr Blackwood could make it into work on time at least once this week it would save me having to write it up, and I despise the wrong sort of paperwork.” 

“I… um…”

“Go, I have much more important things to think about than lateness, Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Jon barely acknowledged Rosie as he walked past her cherry grin, mind to full of the threats that Elias hadn’t needed to say to get his point across. 

*****

Martin stood outside his own front door longer than he should have. 

It was his own door; it was his flat, so why did it feel like he was intruding? 

Jon hadn’t come back after his meeting with Elias, his bag had gone but his coat still hung in his office, maybe he had actually gone home on time for once? 

Stranger things had happened. Didn’t stop that constant pang of worry that Martin felt whenever he thought about Jon’s self care routine or lack of it. 

He just wished he would think about himself once in a while it wouldn’t kill him. Maybe Martin should have just kissed Jon this morning, Jon could have told him to get lost, and then maybe this awkward thing between them would go back to Jon hating him just as much as he did before and Martin could get on with his life. 

Only the idea that Jon would have kissed him back had been swimming in his mind all day, it had made concentrating on even the easiest things almost impossible to bare; it had taken far too long to translate for Sasha and she had picked up on it asking if he was alright.

and was he? 

He wasn’t sure. His crush on Jon seemed to be less one sided than he had believed, and Gerry? Well, he had walked into his life at the exact wrong moment by the look of it. Why was it never easy? Was this life just telling him he should just stay alone forever? It would work out easier in the long run. 

When Martin finally let himself in, Gerry was sitting at the kitchen counter facing away from him.

Shirtless. 

Martin froze, he should have waited longer before coming home. He had obviously walked in on Gerry in the middle of something, his hair pulled up from his face, a wet mop on top of his head. His face fixed in concentration on his own chest. Or it was until the door swung shut behind Martin with a thud.

“Martin?” Gerry looked over his shoulder at him, Martin must have looked a sorry state standing in the doorway dripping a puddle around him while he gawked like a fish. 

Gerry was sitting on the red plastic bar stool, a black pair of tracksuit pants just covered the curve of his hips, Martin couldn’t help but stare at the line of eyes that ran up his spine, nestled between the discoloured and scared remnants of his run in with the Lightless flame. He had known Gerry had these tattoos; he had read about them; he had seen the autopsy photos. 

Yet to see them now, in person made that wonten feeling pool in his stomach and his hands itch to reach out and trace each eye. He shook his head, no time for that sort of thing.

Plus hadn’t he just been worrying over the fact that he and Jon were on the brink of something? Where did Gerry Fit into this strange unknown world?

“Hi” he offered as he towed off his shoes, embarrassed he had been caught staring. But he didn’t feel his face flush the way it did when Jon caught him doing it. Something about Gerry didn’t trigger that. Maybe it was the way they had met? The safety of a screen between the two of them, or a voice without a face?

Whatever it was, Martin’s confidence was more sure fast when it came to the man who currently sat half naked in his kitchen.

“Don’t suppose you have a first aid box hidden away somewhere do you?” Gerry grimaced and Martin noticed the wad of kitchen roll covered with blood that Gerry held in his hand. “I looked in the obvious places but I couldn’t find anything.” 

Martin swooped over to the side of the chair where Gerry had slept the night before and pulled the lid off the ottoman, retrieving the green plastic box from its cubbyhole. 

Rushing over to the kitchen he dropped the box on the counter before placing himself in front of Gerry to get a better look at his wound. 

Gerry gingerly moved the kitchen roll away to let Martin have a look. A deep circular gouge proved to be the source of the blood. 

  
  


“What the hell happened?” Martin asked as he dashed to fill a bowl with water and join Gerry back at his side. This was familiar ground he could work with, he cared for people, it was what he did. That first aid course the young careers had sent him on had been a lifesaver on over more than one occasion.

“An old work mate of my dad’s decided to pay me a visit. This was why I got kicked out of the Tate…” He hissed as Martin started wiping at the wound with a clean cloth.

“You got stabbed, and you still decided it was a good idea to hang about outside the institute waiting for me or Jon?” Martin pressed down on the wound with the cloth, with his other he turned his attention to the first aid kit. 

“It wasn’t bleeding then, the dry blood must have bunged up the hole, it started again when I was in the shower cleaning it OW!” Martin felt the wince as he cleaned the wound with an alcohol wipe. “You're a bloody sadist.” 

“It’ll only get worse if you don’t do what you're told.” Martin ribbed, Gerry huffed at that but said nothing else, he seemed to avoid looking at Martin as he patched him up. What was it about his kitchen and loaded silences? Jon this morning and now Gerry? 

“Well, your dad’s friend did a right number on you, can you lift your arm?” 

Gerry lifted his arm up as far as he could, it seemed as if the stab had missed all the important bits at least, but just lifting it to a right angle had made it bleed again. Martin was going to have to bandage it rather than just stick a gauze pad on, he would need to restrict the movement. At least Gerry wasn’t fighting back and insisting he was ok. Jon could take a few lessons. 

He cleaned the area again with the cloth, making Gerry hold it in place whilst he rummaged in the first aid kit again.

“Should I ask why you have a corkscrew in your first aid kit?” Gerry asked as Martin lay the gauze and bandages on the counter. 

Ah, the good old corkscrew, what would he do without it? He reached up and tapped the cluster of worm scars on his face.

“Good for parasites,” 

“What the hell? Really?” as Martin replaced the cloth with gauze he pressed down on Gerry’s skin, it was a strange texture, not what he expected. It must have hurt, Martin couldn’t imagine the pain of recovering from such extensive burns. It made the ache of the worm holes seem miniscule in comparison.

“Worked it out myself, the neatest way to get them out.” Martin carefully wrapped the bandage around the top of Gerry’s arm noticing the way the skin changed texture as it passed over his unburned tattoos. 

“So did Jon?” Gerry tapped his face, this close Martin could appreciate the blueness of the man’s eyes, he looked strange after only having seen him with his face of makeup. He had freckles, Martin hadn't expected that, they clustered high on his cheekbones where they jutted out.

“Nope, I had too. He was a lot less compliant than you. Why are the handsome ones always the ones that have to go messing themselves up?” he passed the bandage around Gerry’s back, moving closer so he could cross the bandage from hand to hand. Gerry had a leg either side of him now a gentle press into the sides of his thighs, it was a distraction too many. It was just as well Martin’s hands were busy or they may have been tempted to run along the other man’s spine to see if the tattoos there sat raised like the one on his shoulder.

“Good job we have you too look after us then?” Gerry looked up at him something akin to mischief in his eyes “handsome, huh?”

Shit Martin had said that hadn’t he? He tried his hardest to concentrate on his bandaging but he could feel Gerry’s eyes on him when he didn’t answer. 

He worked silently until he came to the end of the dressing and he secured it off. 

He went to step back but Gerry seemed to have other ideas, pinning him into place with his knees.

“So? Handsome?” 

“I’m not going to be allowed to live that down am I ?”

“Don’t think I’ve been called Handsome before,” Gerry mused as he stretched his arm out testing the bandage. He turned his palm up to the ceiling and rotated it round till it was stretched along the counter at Martin’s side. “You did a grand job, regular Florence Nightingale.” Martin had a feeling Gerry was trying to soften whatever was brewing between them but he couldn’t help pressing just a little closer to Gerry, spurred on by the press of his knees against his hips like this. 

From this angle Gerry had to tip his head up to look at him and Martin’s eyes were drawn to the curve of his neck, following it to the hollow of his collarbone where one eye looked back at him. He felt himself reaching out to trace it with his fingers, eyes jumping to Gerry’s lips that had fallen open with something akin to a purr.

As he moved Gerry’s hand fell from the counter and on to his waist, gripping at him gently. 

“Shit, Martin, you're absolutely soaked through.” 

“That would be because it's pissing it down outside.” 

Whatever moment they had been having was shattered, Martin stepped away and Gerry dropped his hold on him. Martin flustered, turning his attention to the discarded bowl of water, trying to calm his heart that was thumping in his ears now. Why was he setting himself up for disaster?

Gerry got to his feet placing a hand carefully between Martin’s shoulders as if scared he was about to bolt.

“You should go have a shower, I’m going to have a nap if that's ok?” 

“Take my bed, you need to rest up.” all he could concentrate on was the feel of Gerry’s hand. It felt like it was burning through his shirt where it touched, was he that starved for human touch?

“I can’t…”

“Yes you can, and when you’ve had a nap, I’ll show you the case files you asked for, I brought them home. Just let me grab some stuff first.” Martin said as he stepped towards the bedroom.

  
  


*****

It was gone six by the time Jon finished up the fake review for Martin. 

He had stowed away in the library to do it, aware that if he went back down to the archives, his mind would keep wandering towards Martin in a less than academic way. 

Now he faced the difficult dilemma at the top of the stairs to the tube, did he take the left or the right line, one would lead home the other to Martin’s. 

He checked his phone; he had no more texts from Gerry since this morning and there had been no sign of him anywhere near the institute when he left, maybe that was it? He had swept in and info dumped then left?

Maybe Jon had been wrong about him? Maybe he had been reading something in the glances the man shot at Martin that weren't there?

He had no text from Martin either, and that was more problematic. He had left no note in the archives to say he had gone home, and that sat uneasy on Jon’s mind.

Pulling out his oyster card he made his decision.

  
  


*****

Martin was freaking out, Gerry was asleep in his bed, He had woken up next to Jon this morning and both men had almost kissed him in the last 24 hours. 

He couldn’t deal with this. 

He lathered up his hair and watched as the soap floated away down the plughole. 

Martin Blackwood did not have Man issues. 

Martin Blackwood could probably count on one hand how many men had actually agreed to go on a date with him and most of them were blind dates set up by Tim. 

Yet somehow he had ended up stuck between the way he felt for Jon and the way he was beginning to feel for Gerry. 

They were supposed to be helpless crushes; they weren’t supposed to like him back, that wasn't what he had signed up for.

How did he negotiate this without someone getting hurt? 

He was deep in that thought when a banging at the door brought him back to reality.

He shut off the water and quickly dried himself down, pulling on his flannel bottoms and bathrobe. Towelling off his hair, he stepped out into the main flat.

Who was banging on his door like this? It wasn’t as if any of his neighbours had bothered with him in the time he had been living here; he had only really seen them through the shadows at the end of the corridors or behind lift doors that he just missed.

His mind wasn’t straight as he moved across to the door and pulled back the safety chain. 

He was vaguely aware of the noise behind him of Gerry opening the bedroom door. 

He hadn’t expected to see Jon, but now he thought about it: who else was it going to be?

Jon froze in the doorway, eyes tracing the expanse of Martin's exposed chest where it poked out from the bathrobe. He flushed before pinging his eyes back to Martin’s face flustering as he spoke.

“You didn't answer when I called you. Are you ok?” 

Martin hadn’t checked his phone since got in, it sat abandoned on the kitchen counter next to the first aid box. 

He had been so caught up in fixing up Gerry that he hadn't even thought to text Jon to tell him he had gotten home. 

But then why did he have to? It wasn’t as if he had any reason to check in with Jon. Jon had left saying nothing to him after all.

“I’m fine I was just busy…” Martin started but Jon’s eyes had slid past him to the open door to the living room, Martin knew what he was looking at before he even turned around. 

“Busy. Yes, I can see that.” 

Martin chanced a look across his shoulder to where Gerry stood resting against the door frame hair unkempt and looking dishevelled, although Martin was pleased to see he had added a t-shirt to the ensemble.

“Where's the fire?” he yawned. 

“No fire, just Jon.” Martin said standing to one side to let Jon into the flat. But Jon didn’t move. He just flexed his hands on the strap of his bag gripping until his knuckles were white.

“I have to go.” He turned on his heels so quickly Martin didn’t have time to react. 

Jon was already in the lift before Martin realised what it must have looked like from Jon’s point of view, the two of them half dressed and ignoring his calls.

“Shit.” he let the door close and rushed to grab a hoodie and his shoes from his coat rack.

“What are you doing?” Gerry sounded concerned as he moved closer.

“Going to find Jon, I need to explain.” he had to explain, nothing was going on between him and Gerry, no matter what it looked like… no matter what it felt like. Martin didn’t want to have to play his hand in this situation he didn’t want to have to choose.

The next thing he knew his phone was being pressed into his hand along with his keys as Gerry pulled him to his feet with his good arm.

“Go find him.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might be a little bit of a delay on the next few chapters as im in and out of hospital with my other half   
> thanks for the kudos and comments so far you're all amazing


	10. Chapter 10

Jon sunk down on the floor next to the god awful swan fountain trying to steady his breath. 

What was he thinking? Why would Martin pick him over Gerry?

Gerry was everything he wasn’t. 

He sheltered in the overhang avoiding the worst of the rain as he tried to light his cigarette. He was frozen to the bone and soaked through. 

Dashing off into the night when he didn’t know what was out there was not the cleverest idea. He might have zero survival instinct but he knew better than to play devil's advocate with something he didn’t understand.

So he had stopped before heading out into the London night, the storm pounding on the pavement, raindrops thundering against cars and roofs jarring at his nerves.

He needed to steady his hands; they were shaking so hard he was struggling to find the end of the cigarette, hands unsteady the flame of the lighter failing to take hold.

There was something dripping down his back, he could feel it slowly inching along his spine as he huddled closer to the wall. Jon hoped it was just water and nothing worse.

He was pathetic. 

He was in a state. 

He should call Tim, he always knew what to do.

Only he couldn't, because he had promised to keep Gerry a secret.

He couldn't, in sound mind, reveal that he had interrupted Martin and Gerry mid… mid… mid whatever.

Jon didn’t know what he had walked in on but there weren't many things that led to two people in varying states of undress leaving a bedroom. 

He tried not to think about the two of them in each other's embrace and failed miserably, the image dancing on the back of his eyes like a silent movie.

Just another thing that Gerry could give Martin, that he wasn’t sure he could. 

He had only known Gerry a few days, but he felt something pull and tug at him every time he looked at the man.

It reminded him strongly of the way he used to feel about Martin. 

He found himself looking at Gerry, and wondering what if? It was clear Martin felt the same way. 

At least Martin had the balls to actually do something about it. 

Martin was showing himself to be braver than Jon in so many ways and acting on his feelings towards Gerry was just another thing Jon could add to that list. 

If Jon had only moved at a pace a little faster than glacial, these thoughts might not have been running through his mind.

Was he destined to always end up acting a moment too late? 

He finally managed to light the end of his cigarette, the draw of the smoke into his lungs calmed him, but face turned up to the pouring rain as it drummed off the overhang and muffled the noise of the surrounding city, Jon came to a startling conclusion.

Yes, he was jealous. 

But the problem was, he wasn't sure who of. 

Was he allowed to have feelings for more than one person?

Did he want Gerry? Or did he want to be Gerry?

He knew his feelings for Martin had moved on from crush, he should have made a move this morning, but Jon had never made the first move in his life, he was already three months into his relationship with Georgie before he had even realised what was happening. 

Was he waiting for Martin to do something?

Was that it? Were they at some sort of awkward stalemate where Jon was too naïve to make a move and Martin too shy and awkward to hit on his boss?

He should have said something when the woman had called Martin his boyfriend. 

But it all sounded so different and scary and on top of the apocalypse level workload, it just felt like  _ so much. _

There was a bang as the door to the flats opened. A blur of flannel and red dashed passed him without even giving him a second look. 

“Martin?” Jon called after him as he stepped out of the security gate. 

But it seemed like once he had crossed the boundaries of the property he might as well be shouting at thin air. 

Jon watched as Martin darted off towards the tube, frozen on the spot, cigarette burning down to the nib in his hand. 

He didn’t move until the cigarette burnt the tips of his fingers and he dropped it with shock.

He should have followed Martin, he was nothing but a coward. 

“Did he just walk straight past you?” Gerry was leaning on the inside of the brightly lit porch, his own cigarette in hand. 

He had pulled on a cardigan that Jon recognised as one of Martin’s favourites, the chunky one that made him look like he should be out in the wilds of Alaska somewhere, not sitting in a dingy office in the centre of London.

It didn’t look right on Gerry, yet it did? He looked cosy, like he belonged, Jon felt a swooping in his gut, like someone had pulled the rug from beneath him, or he had missed a step. 

_ Be with him. Jon wanted to be with him. _ And that revelation hit him like a bus.

“It was like he didn’t even see me.” Jon said weakly as he flicked the end of his cigarette into the bin.

“He didn’t. The lonely, its wrapped around you tight. You didn’t want to be seen, so you weren’t.” 

“ _ You _ see me though?”

“Yeah, but I might be the exception.” Gerry stomped out his cigarette under his boot, kicking the discarded butt out into the courtyard. 

Gerry seemed determined to stay in the building, pulling up the collar of the cardigan around his neck; the entire outfit made him look like he had been dragged through Camden market and just grabbed whatever he laid his hands on. The leather and chains of the boots don't go with the tracksuit bottoms and they really didn’t go with the alpine tree pattern on the cardigan of all things. But Gerry was making it work.

“So not going after the boyfriend? Sort it all out?”

Jon felt the trickle of water down his spine as another drop of rain found its mark. He shuddered. 

“What?”

“Martin? Tall guy, kind of adorable... stormed through here about five mins ago hoping that you hand’t gone and done something stupid, like jump to the wrong conclusion?” Gerry held the door open for him to come back inside. Nodding towards the inviting-looking hallway with a shrug.

“Martin is not my  _ Boyfriend _ .” 

“Really?” Gerry cocked an eyebrow and Jon felt that pain in his chest rise to the surface again snarling. “Because that's the only thing that's been stopping me from taking a shot.” He knew his face had twisted into something that was akin to jealous rage. 

“Thought as much.” Gerry smirked. 

“Will you get in here, out of the rain, so I can stop worrying about you catching your death of hypothermia?”

Begrudgingly Jon did as he was told, moving out of the rain and into the bleaching white of the halogen soaked entranceway. 

Gerry closed the glass door behind them, cocooning them in the gentle almost silence of the lobby, the electric buzz of the light switch the only thing breaking the calm. 

“So,” Gerry said as he lent on the wall, “Whatever you think you saw, you didn’t.” 

“And what do you think I saw? Seeing as how you seem to be the expert?” The venom wasn’t in it and it fell flat.

Jon was well aware that he looked like a child about to throw a tantrum, arms crossed glaring up at Gerry. But Gerry had been quick to pick up on Martin’s cues, he had already learned the way to get a rise out of him. 

Jon wished he could get the idea of Martin and Gerry together out of his head, but he couldn't; they were kissing on repeat, and he lingered on the feeling that elicited in his chest. His heart was beating just a smidge faster at the thought. That was new. 

“Do you ever stop being such a sarcastic git? Or is that the base level I’m working with here? Because I have a type, and you're playing right into it.” Jon was so sure that Gerry was going to wink at him, that it shocked him when he didn’t.

Was Gerry flirting with him? First Martin and now Gerry?

He wasn't opposed, but was right now the time for such things? 

Gerry pushed his way off the wall, his boot leaving a muddy print behind in its wake. 

Turning towards Jon he pulled down the collar of his t-shirt, showing off a bright white bandage, drawing Jon’s eyes to travel across his chest.

“I'm not shagging you not-boyfriend so you can breathe. Martin has been patching me up, I had a run in with the distortion, An avatar called Micheal. I was sleeping it off until you came around banging at the door like some teenager in a horror movie.”

“Really?”

“What bit? the shagging or the stabbing?” 

“Very amusing.”

“I try.”

“Wait, a moment... the Distortion? Is it safe for Martin to be out there?” he moved towards the door but Gerry reached out to grab him with his good arm. Sliding between him and the door. Jon was getting a little fed up of people using their height advantage against him. At least when he wasn’t getting what he wanted from it.

“Why? What are you going to do? Glower the twisting deceit to death?” 

Jon could feel the warmth of Gerry’s hand on his cold skin through the layers of clothes that were sodden from his dredge through the British weather. 

He shuddered as that strange feeling ran up his spine again. 

“No... but he shouldn’t be out there on his own.” Jon stuttered, his eyes drawn to the way Gerry chewed on the metal in his bottom lip.

Gerry was almost on top of him now, it wasn’t doing his train of thought any good. Void of the makeup he looked somehow softer, more solid and real. He still managed to look annoyed, but it just wasn’t as effective without the black eyeliner underlining the point.

“He will be fine. Martin has a bloody good hold on the Lonely for someone who didn’t even know it existed until yesterday. If I thought he was going to be in danger, I would have gone after him, not lit a ciggy and molly coddled you while he was in the great beyond.” Uncertainty was in his voice and it was causing the colour to rise in his normally palled face. 

Gerry had moved in closer as he ranted. Causing Jon to tip his head up as he tried to keep his eyes on the man’s face.

Martin was potentially in trouble, and Gerry was just so damn calm about it? 

It was a situation outside of his control and the innumerable outcomes were not making Jon any less agitated.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot that you're the expert aren't you? Mr esoteric-” Gerry tried to talk over him but got no further than a pathetic tisk sound before Jon ploughed on. 

“Everything was fine before you stuck your nose in. Well, maybe not fine… but it was so much less complicated. Then you had to just grab Martin’s attention, swooping in with your fear gods and monsters and-”

Gerry cut him off with a kiss. 

It wasn’t forceful; it was scarcely a glance of a thing, Jon barely registered the metal of Gerry’s piercings against his lips before he jumped back stunned. 

“Now if you would just shut up for a damn second.” Gerry opened his eyes wide, fixed on Jon. “I’m not here to play you both of each other, I need you both to be on the same page as me or were sitting ducks.”

Jon said nothing, unable to form a coherent thought, his mind racing. Had he meant that? Had he just kissed him to shut him up? 

Gerry’s face was flush, now Jon could focus; he could see the red on the apples of his cheeks.

Jon tentatively reached up touching his own lips. 

“Sorry, I just…” Gerry looked away. He was definitely blushing now. “I shouldn’t have done that but …” 

“I... um... I …”

“I’m not trying to get between you and Martin.” Gerry shook his head, hair falling down from the messy pile on his head. “I’m here to stop whatever the Lukas’s are up too, then I’ll be gone.” 

Gerry started walking towards the lift. When he looked back over he made a point of staring at somewhere above Jon’s head.

“Are you coming up? Or are you just going to stand there dripping on the carpet?”

Jon rushed to catch him up before the lift even arrived.

  
  
  
  
  


******

The rain seemed heavier now; it came down in sheets, causing his glasses to smudge where the rain pooled and he tried his hardest to wipe it away. 

Jon couldn’t have got that far, he only had a few minutes head start. 

He would head to the tube. That was the most logical course of action and as such, the one that Jon was most likely to take. 

The streets were empty despite it being still relatively early; the rain had pushed everyone inside, away from the streets and the roads and paths that were slowly turning into rivers. 

Martin’s footsteps slapped rhythmically against the wet pavement, rain sneaking through the cracked soles and flimsy material of his converse as the weather tried to drag him down with it. 

He wiped his glasses on his hoodie, looking around to see if he could see Jon up ahead, but he saw nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not another living soul was to be seen the entire length of the street.

The shops as he neared the tube were tiny beacons of light shining in an abandoned film set, no faces peered back from behind the electric tills and lotto machines. 

As Martin reached the Tube stop, he questioned the lack of people. Even with the awful weather there was always someone near the assistant booth, TFL staff hanging around pretending to care if you jumped the barrier or not, but right now there was nothing. 

Nobody looked back from the information booth, no chatter came up from the hidden platforms, the only sound was the constant droning of the escalator as it carried nobody too and from the platform.

This wasn’t right.

Jon couldn't have come this way, Martin would have seen him, and just where was everyone? 

Pulling out his phone he pulled up Jon’s number and began typing .

*****

“He’s been gone too long.” 

Gerry watched as Jon paced Martin’s living room, the constant back and forth was driving him mad. Martin’s flat wasn’t massive, but it was big enough that it was pulling on Gerry’s bad arm when he twisted to keep Jon in sight as he watched his rhythmic back and forth.

The pain was annoying him now, he should have taken some more painkillers, he should rest or at least try to, but Martin’s absence was tangible.

They hadn’t talked about the fact that he had kissed Jon. 

It hadn’t been a mistake; he had wanted to do it since yesterday; it was an urge that had not so much snuck up on him than kicked the door down and demanded attention. 

How had things escalated so much? 

He was supposed to be here for work, not trying to seduce the only two people who hadn't looked at him like a valuable commodity since his return.

He had feelings for Martin; he had already come to terms with that revelation long before he had jumped on a flight out of New York; it had stung when he realised that there was something stronger than workmates between the archive assistant and his boss. 

Yet earlier, Martin had been the one to linger. Martin had looked at him and he had felt so incredibly seen. 

He had wanted to kiss Martin just as badly as he had wanted to kiss Jon downstairs, and he hated himself for both counts. 

But Jon had said that they weren’t a couple?

Even if everything about them screamed the contrary.

The sooner he understood what Lukas was up to the better, then he could get back to New York and leave Jon and Martin to live happily ever after. 

If anything, it seemed his presence had at least forced the men’s hand. 

They could be happy together even if he was miserable.

  
  


Jon gave out a frustrated snort, scrawling through his phone tapping away at the screen. 

  
  


They should have gone after Martin, the thought was nagging at him now, aggravated more because he knew Jon was right. He had been gone too long.

The pain in his shoulder mocked him.

He rummaged through the first aid box till he found some ibuprofen and downed two without even getting a glass of water. 

“Come on.” he tugged his jacket over the top of Martin’s cardigan, or at least ,he tried to.

There wasn’t enough give in the leather, his arm refused to move and he could feel the wound opening up again. 

Giving up he handed his Jacket off to Jon.

Jon looked at him confused, but at least confusion was a step up from the fear that had peppered every look before. 

“Stick my coat on, yours is still soaked.”

Jon’s jacket was hanging from the storage heater in the hallway, if Martin had been soggy when he came in it was nothing compared to Jon. 

His thin cargo jacket was seven shades darker than it was supposed to be and despite Gerry offering to lend him something to wear the man was still standing in his soaked through shirt.

Stubborn fool.

“What? What are we doing?”

“Do you want to find Martin or what?” Gerry questioned as he pulled on his boots, trying not to wince as he pulled up the zips and his shoulder ached some more. 

“I thought you said he wasn’t in danger?” Jon questioned, panic flashing across his face.

“That was before…”

“Before what?” 

“Before he had been missing for almost an hour. Oh, don’t look at me like that, this isn’t my fault.”

Jon muttered as he pulled on Gerry’s jacket. It swamped him, falling past his knees and pooling on the floor when he ducked down to tie his shoes. 

There was an urgency in Jon’s moves now, like he was sure that every second longer they waited the worse it was going to end up for Martin.

They rushed out of the flat.

“He will be fine…” Gerry wasn't sure who he was trying to convince himself or Jon.

“Well, at least it's stopped raining.” Jon sounded like he was trying to reassure himself.

“That’s not necessarily a good thing.” Gerry tried to keep his voice calm, but as they moved towards the tube, away from the flat, he was beginning to pick up the colours that twisted in with all the fog. 

This wasn’t normal fog.

He reached out grabbing Jon’s hand tugging for him to move faster, hating himself that he had been so stupid . 

  
  
  


******

“Is anyone there?” 

Martin had been sure that he had seen someone duck into the newsagent across the street. 

It had only been the tail end of a coat but he had heard the tinkling of the bell as the door closed behind them, picked out over the constant thunder of the rain. 

Feet squelching through the puddles he headed in pursuit, Jon had yet to answer his text, whether that was down to him not wanting to speak to him, or the text not reaching the intended party Martin didn’t know. 

He knew that whatever was happening right now wasn’t right though. 

This had something to do with Gerry’s fear entities, he was sure of it. 

The streets were too empty, the surrounding sounds so loud they drowned out all other senses. 

But he was sure that he had seen someone. 

Someone had gone into the shop, and he  _ needed _ to know who.

The light from the newsagents doorway pooled on the wet tarmac, eerie and distorted where the puddles formed and drained away their excess through cracks in the aged pavement. 

Martin paused, he wasn't sure what he was going to find on the other side of the door, what if this was the creature that had stabbed Gerry? 

He knew this was a trap, but what choice did he have? 

The last three streets he had headed down had just looped around and brought him back to the tube station. 

He knew the way home; it was a five-minute walk at most, yet he had walked a solid ten minutes and turned left just to find himself back where he had started. 

Whatever was on the other side of the door couldn't be worse than walking another mile in the rain, just to have got nowhere.

Pushing the door open he felt a wave of bitterly cold air hit him in the face and the smell of sea salt filled his lungs. 

The tiny bell rang out joyfully above his head. He shot it with a look of distrust before stepping into the shop proper.

The radio was playing some song that Martin couldn't quite put his finger on, just on the cusp of being something that he knew before a key change would make him doubt himself. 

He walked the first aisle, the haphazardly stacked shelves trying to sell him off brand Jaffa Cakes and crisps with names in every possible language. 

How was it colder in the shop than it had been outside? His pyjama bottoms were doing little to protect him from the chill and his hoodie was soaked through. 

He had been in such a rush to chase after Jon that he hadn’t even thought about putting on a proper coat. He wasn’t a small guy; the cold didn’t normally bother him, yet every gust of wind seems to drop his body temperature by another degree. 

There was nobody behind the counter. Nobody in the alcove where the coffee machine stood, Martin was just about to give up when he turned around.

The man stood where Martin was sure nobody had been standing a moment before.

He stood by the magazine rack, tall and broadly set, his hair as grey as the newspaper that he held in his hand.

The man had a thick woollen overcoat on; it was what Martin had seen whipping through the door.

Something about him seemed familiar but Martin couldn’t place where he knew the man’s face from.

“Ah, Martin.” 

“Do I know you?”

“No, but I know you.” The man’s voice had a cheery ring to it that didn’t fit the vacant expression upon his face, “Elais speaks highly of you, but then again he does like his little pets down in the Archives.”

So this man was someone who knew Elias, knew the work that they did at the institute. 

It still didn't explain who he was.

“It’s a crying shame that newsprint is becoming so unpopular don’t you think?”

Even though Martin found himself agreeing with the stranger he refused to say anything aloud. There was something unsettling about the man, like he was on the cusp of disappearing if you blinked too hard, like a memory that was on the edge of being forgotten .

“Who are you?”

“My apologies, I should have introduced myself. My name is Peter, Peter Lukas.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooooo Mr Lukas you salty old sea dog...
> 
> yell at me . you know you want to

**Author's Note:**

> There is a depressingly small amount of Jon/Gerry/Martin out here so I needed to write some because be the thing you want from life right?
> 
> yell at me in the comments, or find me on tumblr @pezilla


End file.
